Total pages in book: 61
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 193(@300wpm)
Excluding the multiple times I’ve dreamed about arriving at the hotel ten minutes too late or using the gun I found minutes after discovering my cheating ex bound and gagged in a closet, Roy has barely entered my thoughts.
I can’t wait to wash my hands of him. I just need to make sure Tempy isn’t caught by friendly fire first, and then all cards are off the table.
I’ll staple Roy’s nuts to the wall.
Within minutes, the familiarity of my surroundings vanish, replaced with long stretches of road and heavily treed properties.
“You’re not taking me out here to kill me, are you?”
I have to shout to ensure Nero can hear me. The wind is howling, and since neither of us are wearing helmets, there’s nothing to protect our ears from the elements.
“I’ve heard stories about the woodlands that border the Popov mansion. Nothing good occurs here.”
Nero laughs, aware the stories are the ones he’s shared with me over the past two days. He stopped hiding who he was the instant I stopped letting society tell me what job titles they deem acceptable.
“If you are, can we play a game of chase first?”
I swallow my sass for a later date when we bypass a familiar street sign. It is for the main road of the Popov mansion, and it reminds me that I’m not meant to be living my best days when what should be the most important day of a couple’s life is days away from being ruined.
It has been almost forty-eight hours since Nero offered to help me get the items I need to bring Justine’s ideal wedding reception to fruition, but I haven’t given him my list yet.
When I wrote down just the basics, it was obvious what I was asking was excessive.
Roy stripped my warehouse clean, leaving nothing but dust bunnies in his wake. I need everything from industrial ovens and the tents we use to shelter them while cooking to napkin rings and placement holders we place on every table setting.
As I battle my subconscious on whether I should accept Justine’s offer to use the Popov kitchen or encourage her to use the backup catering firm I booked in case I have to renege on her offer, Nero steers his bike down a street several clicks up from the Popov mansion.
The road is dark and eerily quiet. There doesn’t seem to be a single soul present… until the flashes of Nero’s headlight switches on a hundred bulbs.
The outside of the building we slowly pull up to seems industrial, almost warehouse chic, but the cars and bikes outside and its internal features scream millionaire’s lair.
I’ve heard there is a lot of money in the drug trade. I wouldn’t have believed it until now. The wealth on display is crazy, and it makes me suddenly envious I took the straight and boring route instead of testing the stretch of people’s leniencies.
I was born to be a rebel but settled for second best because I thought it was the right thing to do.
That’s done with now.
After dismounting his bike more awkwardly than he straddled it, not wanting to accidentally kick me, Nero tosses his keys to a man with a gun strapped to his chest, before he lifts me off his bike. He once again makes it seem as if I am the weight of a feather.
When we head toward a group of men with obvious sneers and an array of dangerous weapons, only a micro part of me is scared.
This is far from the stuffy business get-togethers Roy never let me attend during our tumultuous marriage, but it has me more excited than terrified.
This is an equivalent of a workplace visit for Nero, and I’m delighted he’s already reached a stage where he’s happy to include me in any part of his life, let alone something obviously important to him.
The way he speaks of the Popov crew and his clear respect for its current heir makes it obvious these men and women are his family. He cares for them as much as he does his mother—and as I hope he one day will me.
As we enter the warehouse, we’re awarded the eyes of everyone in the facility, including a handful of extremely skinny and practically naked women.
They’re gorgeous, and for the first time in my life, I don’t mentally chastise them. I return their smiles and revel in their confidence of loving the skin they’re in.
With his hand curled around mine, his eyes nowhere near the numerous pairs of naked breasts, Nero asks, “Where’s Eight?”
A man with a scruffy blond beard and numerous tattoos and piercings nudges his head to the right. “Doing inventory on stock we just acquired.”
Nero jerks up his chin in thanks to a man with a British accent instead of the preferred Russian/American accent of the rest of the crew, before he heads in the direction he nudged.