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)
My words trail off when the unnamed man hands me the printout he’s clasping. It is an itemized list of the items in my warehouse, an exact replica of the one I typed up.
“Where did you get this?” I ask, the printout too familiar to discount.
It is from my laptop. I have no doubt about that.
“Answer Eight’s question first,” Nero says, his tone a mix of danger and seduction. “Then we will move on to smoothing that groove between your brows, butterfly.”
My libido surges from his underhanded comment that we’re about to get frisky, but for once, my brain overrules it.
“Have you been spying on me?”
“Butterfly—”
“Answer me, goddamnit!” I shout, too angry about having my feelings stomped on over and over again to realize I am taking my frustration out on the wrong people.
Nikolai looks like he wants to slit my throat. Eight appears amused. But Nero… he looks like he wants to devour me where I stand, one perfectly placed lick, bite, and poke at a time.
My backbone turns him on, so it is only fair I give him some of the sass he’s worked hard to unearth in an astonishingly quick time.
“Everything on the list appears to be here except…”
I wait until the tension reaches its boiling point, and then I curve a brow, wordlessly announcing I’m not speaking another word until I’m given something in return for my efforts.
Eight breaks the intense stare down first. “Aight. I’ll bite.” He rubs his hands together while shuffling from foot to foot. “We’ve misplaced something. We’re of the belief you have it.” After gesturing his hand between Nikolai and himself, he nudges his head to Nero. “Nero believes differently.”
I appreciate both his honesty and belief that Nero has faith in me, but it doesn’t alter the facts.
I’m being eyeballed as if I am the criminal half of our duo.
“How long ago did your… stuff go missing?” I want to ask how long I’ve been under surveillance, but it is less heart-breaking this way.
It is a fight not to fold in two when Nikolai answers, “Four days ago.”
“Which was a good twelve months after Nero purchased the house across the street from you so he could make out he isn’t mowing another man’s turf by stroking his cock to his missus from afar.” Eight’s lips snatch shut when Nero growls. “What? I thought she knew.” He swallows harshly before shifting his eyes to me. “How do you think he changed so fast tonight? Tempy wasn’t giving up his shirt for anything, even with it reeking of sweat, and the winds are too cold to go shirtless on a motorcycle, so he popped home for two seconds to get dressed, most likely for the first time in days, while you rustled up a pair of fitted jeans from the back of your closet.”
I can’t fight the urge to bend for a second longer.
He’s been watching us.
Does that mean he saw us…
I can’t say it.
I refuse.
I’m also devastated by what his confession could mean. I thought Nero was attracted to me because he saw past the stigma of being with a plus-size woman. I had no clue he was only sniffing around to find the goods his boss believes I stole.
I’ve never felt more stupid.
“Could you make it sound any more perverted, fuckface?” Nero snaps out, his fury undeniable. “He was watching you, butterfly. But only because I asked him to keep an eye on you. I had to know you were safe when I wasn’t there. But he only had access to the cameras monitoring the outside of your home. He didn’t have access to anything behind closed doors. I’d kill him before I’d ever let him see you like that.”
I want to believe him, but four plus four doesn’t equal ten.
“Then how does he know Tempy claimed your shirt?”
Eight answers before Nero can. “She dragged it onto the patio this afternoon so she could nestle with it next to the firepit and in the low-hanging sun.”
Oh. I’m still angry, but Tempy loves heat, and the temperature in our home cooled drastically when Nero took his call, so his excuse is believable.
There’s just one thing that doesn’t make sense.
“What’s your excuse for knowing I wrestled my jeans out of the back of my closet?”
Now, I’m not the only one angry. Nero looks furious, and his I’m-going-to-kill-you stare has Eight speaking at the speed of sound. “Her ex is a douche. He’s been giving her shit all week. When I shut him up with my fists, the front of his pants got a little stained. I figured I’d replace them with a pair from across the street, forgetting she had burned all his belongings, including his ugly-ass suits.” He shifts on his feet to face me. “I saved myself a trip to the store by compromising with a pair of jeans I found in the back of your closet.” His smile is unexpected considering the heat of our exchange. “For someone who thinks meat on bones is for dogs, your husband’s new threads are an extremely snug fit.”