Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 479(@200wpm)___ 384(@250wpm)___ 320(@300wpm)
“It’s not happening, Corbin.”
“Call me by the correct name, or I will make you regret it.”
“I already regret, Corbin. I am not a thief, and neither is my client. You have no business even thinking of using the man. My client has nothing to do with you and me. With our business.”
“Client?” His uncle’s lip curled. “You fuck all your clients?”
“And what makes you think that?”
“I have had men on you your entire life. I know everything about you. I know how you caused the death of your Michael.”
That stab in the gut pissed him off. Yes, it was his fault Michael had been killed, but he didn’t want the man’s name on his uncle’s poison tongue. He took a menacing step forward, ignoring the two who watched him closely. “You are not to talk about him.”
“About the man you’d planned to marry? I was told the moment you purchased a ring.” He scowled.
“Got a problem with the fact that he was a man?”
“No, I did not.” He waved his hand, the handkerchief fluttering. “I know this isn’t something you chose, that it’s a part of nature. No, I had a problem with the man you chose.” His lip curled. “A weakling.”
Weakling. The same thing Corbin had called his mother. Royce’s hands curled into fists.
“You seem to attract men with heart conditions.”
This time, the stab was fear. Pure, bloodcurdling terror.
“Why do you fall for such weaklings, Alesandro? You are a strong man. Small like your mother, but so surprisingly powerful. I got videos of you in action when you were younger, and I was impressed. Like I said before, I could have used you working for me.” He looked back at the painting. “This is worth more than I expected. Possibly worth the loss of your talents. But now, I have a need for more. You or Marc Foster—I don’t care which one gets them. But I want more.” He unfolded his handkerchief and patted his upper lip while he aimed a hard stare at Royce. “I always get what I want.”
“I’d like to see my mother.”
“I don’t care what you’d like.”
Royce saw nothing but red. He took a step toward Corbin and two of the men on either side of him moved toward him. “Do it. Come at me.” He grinned.
One of them snapped and did just that. Royce had grown up on the streets. If there was one thing he knew how to do, it was fight. His years as a shylock had made him aware of every move his opponent could make. This one moved right for his face.
Royce stopped his forward momentum with a foot to his shin. Without hesitation, he slammed his fist into the man’s nose so hard, the pop of the bone reverberated throughout the room. Blood sprayed, some of it hitting Royce. The guy spit blood and stared for a moment. Everyone in the room was eerily silent.
He came back.
Royce used his momentum against him, grabbing the man under the arm and forcing him to bend over. Royce shoved his free hand into the side of the man’s neck, which kept him from being able to grab Royce around the middle. This freed him up to wrap his leg around the other man’s and bring him down.
He slammed his fist down on the guy’s nuts, then grabbed the gun in his waistband.
Seven other guns were instantly aimed at his head.
He knew then he wasn’t getting his mother away from this asshole that day. With a sick swirling in his gut, he set the gun down. “I’m not going to shoot anyone, so back off.”
“Do it,” Corbin ordered.
Royce stood and glared at his uncle. “You are going to regret not giving me my mother.”
Corbin threw his head back and laughed. When he got himself under control, the fondness in his expression twisted up Royce’s gut more. “Oh, how I wish you had been mine all these years. I always loved you and your brother, Alesandro. Loved you like my own boys. But I demand respect, and you have not given me this.”
“How many paintings is it going to take to get her? Is she even alive?” He hated the fear that showed in his voice with the last question, but he couldn’t help it.
Corbin nodded toward his son.
Nick came forward and held out his phone. “It’s a live feed.”
Royce stared at the small woman lying in a queen-sized bed. “How do I know that’s live?”
One of the other men turned and left the room. A few minutes later, he walked up beside the bed. Royce mother jumped out of the bed on the other side and picked up a lamp.
“I dare you to come closer,” she said.
Nick shut off the phone.
Corbin chuckled. “As you can see, she’s fine. She even stopped vomiting today, though I expect that will return. The cessation of her particular drug causes severe migraines, and she always did vomit with those migraines of hers.”