Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57121 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 228(@250wpm)___ 190(@300wpm)
Nikolai turns to me. He looks exhausted, with large bags under his eyes. I know he was up late talking with his girlfriend… or one of them. Nikolai isn’t a playboy, necessarily, but he’s a lot less stunted than I am.
“They’re searching for the second device,” I growl. “The second half of the key. That’s why they hit us last night. Bastards.”
“No one was hurt,” Nikolai mutters. “They know not to push it too far.”
“This isn’t too far?” I grunt. “Conrad and his cronies are ex-intelligence. They’re not mobsters or gangsters. They’re basically fucking civilians.”
Nikolai grins, but it seems forced, like he’s doing it for my benefit. My usual happy-go-lucky brother is buried in there somewhere under the exhaustion. “And the sky is blue. And sidewalks are made of concrete. And fish swim in the ocean. Are we done telling each other things we already know?”
“Hmm,” I grunt. “You know what I’m saying.”
“We should show them that the Bratva is more than zeroes and ones on a computer somewhere. That we can break them any chance we want.”
“Exactly,” I snarl.
“They didn’t hit our servers though,” Nikolai says. “They didn’t get anything useful. They walked the line carefully because they know what we’d do if they crossed it. We have to be careful.”
I laugh in disbelief. “It’s strange, you being the responsible one. Normally, I’d be talking you down from the idea of going all out.”
Another smile, which looks a little forced. It might be time to sit him down and have a proper conversation soon. But I’ve never been very good at that. I tried—sort of—a week ago, but he shut me down.
“That’s called growth, brother,” he says.
“I might try that sometime,” I reply.
“Yeah, right,” he says.
The idea is ridiculous to him. But with Lia, I feel like I could give it a go, be a new man, or at least unlock new parts of myself… for her. The thought sticks with me as we go our separate ways and get on with our days.
She was trying to slow me down this morning via text, and she was right. When I was typing out those messages, my heart was pounding. My body was flooded with heat, and my mind was in a feral haze. I almost wanted to tell her I own her. Possess her heart and every curvy inch of her body. I was tempted to tell her that she. Is. Mine.
Because sometimes, even when I was just watching her, that’s how it felt.
But I know that’s irrational. That I need to slow down. These are the thoughts of a man who’s spent years living a cold and calculated life. I know all of this, but sometimes, these thoughts feel far more real than they should be able to.
An hour later, I’m in my office, having civilized meetings with civilized people. It’s just gone one PM when I get a text from Lia.
Lia: Daniel Mercer is missing from the hospital. Was this you?
Maksim: WHAT?
Lia: Just answer the question, please. Joel is saying he woke up and walked out, avoiding the cameras, but I don’t think that’s likely. Based on what I’ve seen, I think someone took him. That poor man. And I know, I don’t know a thing about him. But it’s still not fair.
Maksim: It wasn’t me. But I’ll get on this immediately.
Lia: There’s something else too. Will you come by later?
I deal with the elite of society, the people who make the world turn. I instill fear in them. I make gangsters shake in their boots. And yet, this text sends a shiver of anxiety through me like I’ve never felt before.
Maksim: What time?
Lia: Seven? I’ll finish work, swing by Mom’s place, then go to the townhouse. There’s something important I need to ask you.
My head spins. Panic grips me. The feeling is insane considering everything I’ve been through, everything I’ve done, everything that’s been done to me. All the fighting and the bloodshed and the darkness, but this hits like a ton of bricks.
Maksim: Want to give me a hint?
Lia: Just be there.
Well, damn.
She looks beautiful when she answers the door. She’s showered and changed into a pair of green shorts and a T-shirt that hugs her chest tightly. Her hair is tied up in a knot. It’s not curated. It’s just perfection, casually highlighting how effortlessly gorgeous she is.
My body stirs when she turns and walks away. The shorts cling to her thick ass tightly. I swallow as the tension punches through me. Instincts roar at me to surge up behind her, wrap my arms around her and massage her ample breasts, drive my crotch against her ass so she can feel how hard she makes me without even trying.
In the kitchen, she turns to me. “How did you know I don’t like creamer in my coffee?”