Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108141 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 541(@200wpm)___ 433(@250wpm)___ 360(@300wpm)
His shocked, beautiful, brown eyes are the last thing I see before I close my own. His lips are frozen against mine for a moment, and I prepare myself to pull back and deal with the embarrassment of rejection in front of Gerald and Miss Exotic. But before I can back up, his strong arms snake around my waist, tugging me closer to him—his pull commanding and powerful.
And then he kisses me back.
He takes control and kisses me like I’ve never been kissed in my life.
And oh my word, do I feel those infamous sparks! It’s like bright fireworks shooting off behind my eyelids—amazing shades of blue and purple and pink lighting up my body and igniting something deep within me.
And from this kiss, my hope is restored.
Ethan
One hour earlier
“Tell that motherfucking cop if he doesn’t get me my goddamn money, I’m going to beat him to the point his fucking ass will be shitting out the hundreds he owes me. No, you know what? Fuck that! I’ll tell him my damn self.”
I hit end on the call and throw my phone across the desk, watching it slide across the surface and almost fall over the edge. It reminds me of my life. Teetering on the brink. Lately, I’ve been feeling off, aggravated and restless, as if I’m on the edge of my sanity and one push will send me over.
The last time I can remember feeling like this was twelve years ago when my dad’s and my world fell apart. When I learned that God is cruel and karma is a bitch. When my dad had to pick me up off the ground and force me to get my shit together. When he took my dream of wanting to own my own club and made it a reality.
For the last ten years, this club has become my entire world. I’ve put everything into making The Warehouse one of the most sought after clubs on the Eastern Coast. What started off as a way to lighten the darkness in my life, ended up being what I’ve lived for every day. And up until recently, it’s felt like enough, but lately I’m finding myself turning back toward the darkness and I have no clue what to do about it.
On Friday and Saturday nights, the club holds underground cage fights. Men come from all over to get in the cage and prove themselves to be the better fighter. On a good night, the winner can walk away with close to a hundred grand in his pocket. They don’t make that in those bullshit mainstream organizations, that’s for damn sure.
The problem with running underground gambling is that you come across some shady as fuck people, and when I’m forced to deal with those people, shit gets real. And that’s where Logan comes in. Where I’m the brains behind the business, Logan is my enforcer. He handles everything related to gambling, including placing the bets, collecting the money, and paying out.
I look at the time and see it’s almost midnight. I need to send a text to Logan to let him know I’ll be at the bar so we can discuss the situation in person. Normally, I would handle a situation like this with brute force, but when you’re dealing with a dirty as fuck cop with a gambling problem, you handle that shit like you would a live grenade—with gentle fucking care.
There’s a knock on my door and in walks Carmen—with her legs for days and huge fake tits, she could send most men to their knees begging. However, I’m not most men, and I sure as fuck don’t beg, but I’ll tell you what I have done: fucked her, many times, until she said the three words no man wants to hear.
I want more.
And I’m not talking about in the bedroom. I have that shit on lock.
Believe me when I tell you that train came to a screeching halt so fast, you could smell the brakes burning from a mile away. I did that more bullshit once upon a time. Never. Fucking. Again.
Carmen is the bar manager. She covers all levels of the club: upstairs in the VIP lounge, the first floor, and the lower level where the fights happen on the weekends, and she’s damn good at her job. I know… I know… Don’t fuck where you eat. I don’t make it a habit, but Jesus, those tits.
I’m not a dumb man, so when we ended things, I made sure it was done amicably so I wouldn’t lose her as my bar manager. I’ve seen her new boyfriend come in to hang out occasionally and he seems like a nice, standup guy. I’m happy for her. I hope she gets that more she’s in search of. But you know what else I hope? That she isn’t anything like the majority of the female population who say they need more, but what they really mean is nothing is ever enough.