Total pages in book: 214
Estimated words: 199879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 999(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 199879 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 999(@200wpm)___ 800(@250wpm)___ 666(@300wpm)
The Lords have been paying for Queens—the Kings escort service—for years. Jasmine used to be a queen for a short while, and Kashton was one of her best-paying customers. Still is as far as I know, although she no longer works for the Kings. She started her own business. One that we know of well. But I guarantee you the Kings and Jasmine have no clue just how intertwined our worlds are. And I’m sure as fuck not going to be the one to tell them.
“I’ll call her.” Kashton finally speaks.
“And tell her what?” I question. “If Bones is right, it’ll lead her to our front door sooner rather than later.” I would prefer to avoid a scene. I’d really hate for us to piss the Kings off, but Jasmine is crazy if she thinks she’ll walk out of here with Ashtyn. I’ll throw her in a cage in the basement and call Bones to come and fetch her before I allow Jasmine to take what’s mine.
“What do you want me to do?” He throws his arms up in the air.
“Drop it,” I answer. “She has no clue that you even know Ashtyn. Let’s keep it that way.”
It’s pure coincidence that a woman Kashton has been fucking also knows Ashtyn. It really is a small world. But it also worked in our favor. When we found out that Ashtyn was in Vegas, it was the best outcome we could have hoped for. Because like Bones said, we gave the Kings a heads-up that we were coming, and they didn’t stand in our way. It also just pissed me off how close we had been to her and never fucking knew it.
Kashton gives me his back before stomping out of the office and slamming the door shut. I know Kash, and he won’t drop it. I just have to be prepared for what’s to come.
Opening my top desk drawer, I remove Ashtyn’s cell that I took from the bathroom back at her house in Las Vegas. I unlock it and see she’s got over fifty missed calls and countless texts. I’ve had her phone on silent, not wanting to be bothered by it. It’s almost dead.
Skimming the calls, I see they’re all from BOSS LADY a.k.a. Jasmine.
No surprise that 90 percent of the texts are from her as well. They’re all the same.
Where are you?
Are you okay?
I’m worried. You never go MIA.
Just then, the screen lights up flashing BOSS LADY, and I grind my teeth. I wait for it to stop and turn the cell off completely, toss it back into the drawer, and slam it shut.
Fuck! This will complicate things.
FORTY
ASHTYN
I finally crawled out of my bed and made it to the other set of double doors that I found leading to a balcony. I was surprised to find they were actually unlocked. It’s nice to have a little freedom, no matter how false it is.
There’s nothing but woods as far as the eye can see. Just as I remember it. I’ve always loved Pennsylvania. I grew up here. I hated the desert, but it was one of those things I had no control over.
Curling my fingers around the iron railing, I look down at the ground below. Good thing I’m not afraid of heights.
The thought of jumping to my death crosses my mind, but I quickly dismiss it. I’ve never been suicidal. I won’t give Saint the satisfaction of thinking I couldn’t live with myself. I did what I did and now I must pay for that decision. Being his prisoner sounds better than being without him.
The sound of my bedroom door opening has me pushing off the rail and rushing back into my room, expecting to see Saint enter. I hate the way my shoulders slump when it’s not him.
“Good evening, miss.”
“Jessie.” I give him a kind smile.
Of course, he’s still here. Just like the Spade brothers, Jessie is tied to this place for life. He still wears his all-black tux and looks just like I remember him. A set of kind eyes I always thought was too soft for this place. He has a few more wrinkles around them than I remember, but at least one thing hasn’t changed. I wonder if he hates his life here since he has to serve. He’s not allowed to marry or have children and has to devote his life to the Spades.
He wheels a cart into my bedroom that has three silver plates with dome lids over the top. “You need to eat,” he says, looking me up and down and frowning. All I wear is an oversized T-shirt that hits mid thigh. “Help with your strength.”
I want to laugh at his choice of words. No amount of strength will win me a fight against Saint.
Bringing the cart to a stop, he removes the lid, and my mouth salivates at my favorite meal, baked pineapple salmon. “You remembered.”