Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Wrapping an arm around my waist, Inferno fucked me relentlessly. God, I was fucking gone! I wanted him so fucking much!
Then his weight came off me, and he gripped my hips in both hands and roared as he pounded inside me over and over. I cried out, needing more but not sure I could find my peak again.
I should have known better. Inferno found my clit with his fingers and I came as he roared out his own completion.
For a second, I thought I’d pass out. My whole body shook. Couldn’t even fucking hold myself up. Inferno caught me as I started to collapse face-first onto the mattress, his arms coming around me in a bear trap of heat and muscle. He rolled us to our sides, his cock still firmly embedded in my pussy. I didn’t care. I could have died right there and nobody would have found a more contented corpse.
We lay tangled together afterward, sweat-damp and breathing hard. He found my hand and laced our fingers together.
After a while, he kissed my shoulder and pushed himself up. He crossed to the bathroom and came back with a glass of water and a wet cloth. He handed me the water, and I drank it down in long swallows, suddenly aware of how thirsty I was. Then he gently washed between my legs, looking up at me as he did so.
He was gone for another moment, then came back, lying back down beside me. He pulled the blanket over both of us and drew me against his chest, one arm heavy across my waist. His breathing slowed, then deepened. Within minutes, he was asleep.
I stayed awake for a long while, just relishing being in his arms. The room was dark now, the blinds drawn against the afternoon sun, and the only light came from the narrow strip under the door. I looked at Inferno over my shoulder. The gray at his temples caught what little light there was and turned silver. The lines around his eyes had relaxed in sleep, peaceful in a way I hadn’t seen him before.
Careful not to disturb him too much, I turned over in his arms, I needed to get a better look at him. When I moved, Inferno turned fully on to his back and pulled me closer in his sleep until my head rested on his shoulder.
His chest rose and fell in a steady rhythm. I watched him sleep, and for the first time since this began, I saw a clear path. And it led straight to this man’s arms. The only question was if I was brave enough to embrace him back.
Chapter Eleven
Inferno
Knight’s office was quiet as I walked inside. Four screens cast pale blue light across the desk where Knight sat, his black-sclera eyes tracking lines of code or whatever the fuck it was he did in here.
I dropped the receipt on the desk in front of him, the one with Triad Holdings Nashville written in Juniper’s tight, angry script, the broker’s number underneath.
“You get anywhere with this?” I asked.
Knight picked up the receipt without looking away from his center screen, where a spreadsheet was scrolling too fast for me to track. “Been on it since you texted the number this morning.” His fingers moved across the keyboard, quick and precise. “Triad Holdings LLC. Registered in Tennessee, filed three months ago. The registered agent is a filing service out of Delaware that fronts for about four hundred shell companies at any given time. No property holdings. No financing on record. No lender. No acquisitions in the Charlotte Avenue corridor or anywhere else in Davidson County.”
“Empty shell.”
“Completely.” He swiveled in his chair to face me. The glacial blue of his eyes looked almost silver against the black of his tattooed scleras, and the effect was still unsettling no matter how many times I saw it. “The broker’s legitimate, though. David Mercer. Been in commercial real estate for twelve years. Clean record. He was hired by a client he’s never met in person. Communicates by email and phone. Pays his retainer by wire transfer from a business account that, coincidentally, also traces back to another shell.”
I leaned against the wall beside his desk. The cool of the cinder block seeped through my shirt. “So Brett’s covered his tracks.”
“Brett’s smarter than I gave him credit for.” Knight tapped a key and a new window opened on his right-hand screen. A list of transactions, dates, amounts. “The shell does leave something behind, though. Filing fees. State fees. The credit card that paid them.” He highlighted a line. “A prepaid Visa ending in 4419 was used to pay the initial filing for Triad Holdings three months ago,” Knight continued. “Bought with cash at a gas station in Brentwood. The clerk remembers the sale because it was a five-hundred-dollar card and the guy paid in twenties. Young guy, the clerk said. I don’t think this is our man.”