Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79336 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
The dots appeared, and I expected many questions. But then her quick response came through. Door’s unlocked.
“Yes.” I left the Range Rover on the street, headed up the stairs to her floor, and then let myself into her apartment. The lights were off because she hadn’t bothered to turn them on. I made it to her bedroom and found her naked in bed, the covers pushed to the side, her eyes sleepy like she’d been knocked out cold when I texted her.
I was fucking hard at the sight of her and dropped my clothes at record speed. I joined her in the small bed, moved on top of her, and bent her the way I liked, and then I sank into the warm flesh of a beautiful woman. I felt the softness of her skin every time I thrust inside her, felt how wet she was when she’d just been asleep minutes ago. I didn’t kiss her like I normally did, just fucked her, hard and fast, my hips working like a piston in an engine.
She came with a whimper, not one of those drawn-out moans she normally made, probably because she was still half asleep. It was like morning sex, when she wasn’t quite there, when she didn’t react with the same enthusiasm because she was in a dreamlike state.
I’d been ready to go when I’d sat outside her apartment, so it didn’t take much for me to finish, filling her little body with my seed, releasing my adrenaline through my sweat and arousal, finishing off a violent night by finding peace between my woman’s legs.
When I was done, I didn’t lie beside her. Immediately, I pulled out and put on my clothes so I could head home.
She turned toward the wall, pulled the sheets to her shoulder, and seemed to go right back to sleep.
I watched her as I continued to dress, expecting her to say something, but she didn’t.
I smirked, then walked out. “Night, sweetheart.”
She didn’t say anything back—so she really was asleep.
Chapter 9
Constantine
Rocco and I entered the villa, a handful of guys with us, while the rest remained outside and at the Temple, ready to be deployed when we were ready. Luca had texted me the address where his men were holding Vladimir. All I had to do was pick him up, like a kid at day care.
“He asked for nothing in exchange?” Rocco asked as we stepped through the double doors into the entryway.
“No.”
“You sure about that?”
“I told him a symbiotic relationship would be mutually beneficial. Can’t do everything alone.”
“He seems like the kind of guy that only does things alone.”
We approached the next set of doors and came across Vladimir tied and bound to a wooden chair, his face already beaten badly because he’d tried to run—or Luca just didn’t like him.
A dozen of Luca’s men were there, all carrying automatic weapons in case someone in Vladimir’s camp knew where to find him. “Thanks, boys,” I said. “We can take it from here.”
One guy walked up to me and snapped a photo. “Handoff complete.” Like a food delivery driver, he took a receipt to send to Luca in case shit went south and I tried to blame it on him. They all left, and then it was just the three of us.
I pulled up a chair and sat across from Vladimir.
He focused on the floor, too afraid to look at me . . . or stupid enough to ignore me.
“You know how this goes, Vladimir. And I’ve got a lot of shit to do, and I’d rather make this quick. So how do you want to handle it? Do I need to torture you to tears before I get my answer, or will you just roll now?”
His eyes stayed down, but he started to tremble. It probably wasn’t a conscious decision, but an uncontrollable twitch of all his nerve endings. He might even shit himself, he looked so pale.
“Keep in mind that one of your potential victims is my woman—and I’m getting justice for that.”
Rocco opened the briefcase he’d brought with all the gadgets inside, the jelly infused with gasoline so it’d stick to his face before we lit it on fire, the pliers and screwdrivers, bamboo shoots for the fingernails, the hammer that would slam down on his ball sack.
“By cutting off your dick.”
“I’m—I’m not going to talk.”
“Oh, you aren’t?” Rocco said. “Good, you just made my day.” He grabbed a hammer and spun it in the air before he caught it again.
“Yeah, Rocco loves this shit. Learned a lot of good stuff during his time at MI6.”
“You—you won’t hurt my family. So . . . you can’t make me talk.”
It was a leverage I would never have, leverage that would make all these transactions go quicker. But I’d never stoop to that level, no matter the stakes, because I was better than them. “Rocco, I’m going to handle this one.”