Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
One, two, and three, is it for you or him or them?
Red, red, red, red, red, red...
What the F?
Junior is back and stupider than ever. It’s all of us and the nonsense is irritating. Of course, I have killers in front of me and all around me. I’m me. Kane is Kane. And both of us came by our bad habits honestly. We have crappy fathers.
In other words, I push harmless Junior aside and head to a crime scene, and when I kneel beside the wealthy victim, I glance up to spy a painting that is pretty and one tone—red. When I inquire with the house manager about the artist, she can’t remember who painted it, but she does know the name of the painting itself.
It’s called Red.
The color of blood.
And now Junior has my attention.
Book 11 in the Lilah Love series
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
Chapter One
I don’t think every man who cries is a pathetic loser, but my father has taken macho emotional meltdown to a whole new level. I mean no wonder Ghost ran after he broke my father’s finger. He probably didn’t want to hear the whimpers that would follow.
“Lilah,” my father sobs. “Lilah, help me.” He tugs at his legs, that appear attached to the chair and when I remain planted in front of the door, the real him comes out, the rabid him. “Cut me loose!” he snarls. “Now!” And then the fool sobs all over again.
Now.
He wants to be free now, and in that moment, I’m thrust back into the past, to my birthday and the night that changed me, and Kane, forever. I’m trapped beneath my attacker, the scent of salt and ocean and death in my nostrils, fighting for my life, the haze of the drugs someone had fed me doing nothing to erase the feel of the monster on top of me. I couldn’t fight. I couldn’t get him off me. The only person who helped me was the only person who’s ever helped me—Kane. And thanks to how screwed in the head I was over that night, I pushed him away and almost lost him.
Fuck you, father, I think. Fuck you.
As if he’s heard me, as if he knows it’s his blood I taste on my tongue, he tugs against the ropes attached to his feet all over again and screams out, holding his wrist, and showing me the purple swollen finger, his middle finger. I almost laugh with the certainty that the choice was not random, but rather Ghost’s way of saying “fuck you” as well.
“Lilah!” my father hisses, but it’s a hoarse whisper as if he’s become aware of the thin, temporary constructions of the wall, aware of the simple curtain Ghost used for his escape, aware of how foolish he’d look should anyone but me see him like this.
There’s a knock on the door and a shout of, “Almost time! We need you on stage in fifteen!”
“Lilah,” my father pretty much howls, verging on temper tantrum at this point. “I need free. I need out of here. I need a medic. Now. Now. Now!”
He wants attention. I’ll give him attention.
I close the space between me and my father, a title I assign him loosely, and squat in front of him. His face is bloated and eyes are red, a far and literal cry from the suave, good looking, and all too pulled together gubernatorial candidate the public has gotten to know, or rather, think they know. Is there a politician alive that is who they seem to be? My father was truly made to hold an office while pretending to serve. Pocher’s a fool if he thinks he’s employed a limp noodle, he will manipulate as he pleases, he’s misjudged yet another Love.
I settle on a knee in front of his chair, but I don’t reach for him. “What did he say to you?”
“How do you know him?” he demands.
“He’s the number one assassin in the world. It’s my job to know him.”
“You did this?”
“Why would I ask him to do this when I could do it myself? Welcome to the spotlight. He chose you all on his own. Killers are drawn to killers. You should remember that.” I reach down and release the simple tie at his right ankle and then his left. “Should I get the police?”
“No,” he says roughly. “I need a medic. And Kane. Get me Kane.”
His obsession with my husband running his security would be foolishly baffling if I didn’t believe it had something to do with his desire to control Pocher. “Good choice,” I comment. “Kane is how I first met Ghost.” The color of moments before drains from his cheeks, and with satisfaction in my heart, I push to my feet, turn on my heels and walk toward the door.
When I exit the dressing room, I’m only slightly surprised to find Kane leaning on the wall, oozing a Latin king vibe in his perfectly fitted tuxedo. I close the few steps between us and he straightens, towering over me, an arch to his brow. “What just happened?”
“He’s asking for you.”
“He can ask all he wants. They need him on stage. He’s the new governor of New York.”
God, I love this man. My father’s the governor and he’s still in “fuck you” mode. “And Ghost just made sure it’s a night to remember,” I inform him.
He catches me to him and turns me to press my back to the wall he was just leaning on, his big body sheltering mine, as if it’s a natural reaction to protect me. As if I haven’t faced off with Ghost, and the likes of him, many times over. “What the fuck, Lilah?”