Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
“Bistecca alla fiorentina. But I doubt that’s something you’d order.”
“I drink scotch. Maybe I like steak too.”
A subtle smile moved over his lips. “Do you?”
“I do, but I’m just not that hungry right now,” I said. “Maybe I’ll get a salad.”
His grin widened before he took a drink.
“What?”
He gave a slight shake of his head. “Nothing.”
“What?” I repeated.
“I was right,” he said. “That’s what.” He made a slight gesture, and the waitress immediately came over. He asked for another drink because he’d already finished.
When she was gone, it was just the two of us again, the war of eye contact ensuing.
He kept his word and didn’t ask me about the one thing I didn’t want to talk about. His eyes tried to pierce my exterior, but he never used different methods to pry.
“Tell me about yourself.”
“What do you want to know?”
I didn’t want to interrogate him since he was nice enough not to interrogate me. “Whatever you want to share.”
He considered my words in silence, relaxed in the chair, his thick arms pulling hard on the fabric of his shirt. “I like cigars. Collect them.”
“Collect them?” I asked. “Like wine?”
“Yes. I have a humidor to keep them at the right temperature and humidity.”
“How long do they last?”
“About thirty years, if you intend to smoke them. But I have a collection that dates back the last hundred years. I can’t smoke them, but I can still smell them…and you taste the history in the smell.”
“That’s interesting.”
The waitress brought his second drink and took away the empty glass. He took a drink before he caught a drop with his thumb. “I have some that belonged to my great-grandfather. That’s the only piece of him that I have.”
“Do you revere him?”
“No. I just think we’re a lot alike.”
“You identify as a dictator?”
He stared at me for a long time like he might not say anything, but then he spoke. “Sometimes.”
My eyes glanced down to the skull ring that he always wore. It was huge, and I could tell it was heavy just by looking at it. I wanted to ask about it, but I wanted to respect his privacy the way he respected mine.
He reached for his hand and twisted the ring off his thick knuckle. Then he placed it on the table in front of me, the diamond casting a spectrum of colors against the window. It glittered in the light of the candle.
I reached my fingers toward it. “May I?”
He nodded.
I took the ring and stilled when I felt how warm it was. I’d expected it to be cold like a stone sitting in the winter fog, but it was hot like fire, because his skin burned like the sun. I’d never touched him, but now I knew how my palm would feel against his chest, how warm my fingers would feel if I touched his arm. If I were tucked into his bed with him beside me, I would sweat from the heat. I wouldn’t need a heater or a fire because he was more than enough. The ring was heavy as I’d assumed, its concentrated mass making it like a paper weight. After I examined it for several seconds, I returned it to the center of the table. “That’s an interesting ring…”
He twisted it back onto his knuckle and took a drink. “I have two more.”
I’d heard Bolton and others mention Theo by a different name—The Skull King. He was the leader of an underground group of men who moved drugs across the country. They monopolized other illegal sources of income. I didn’t know much more than that, other than the fact that he was lethal.
His eyes hardened on my face, reading my expression like words on a page. “You know who I am.”
The lights from his eyes hit me like a spotlight, and I had nowhere to run. Once I was under that piercing stare, my armor was knocked to the ground. I’d heard he was dangerous and vicious, but it was hard to be afraid of a man who changed my tire in the rain and appreciated art.
“You aren’t scared, sweetheart?” He looked down into his glass before he looked at me again, confidence in his eyes, a hint of arrogance in his stature.
“Should I be scared?” A broken heart made me careless. It made me do things I wouldn’t normally do. But I felt like I had nothing to lose.
“No.” He swirled his glass before he brought it to his lips for a drink. “I don’t hurt women—not unless they ask me to.” He casually got the attention of the waitress and ordered our dinner, getting himself a steak and me a salad.
I felt a flush in my cheeks when I heard the echo of his words, when I pictured his big palm leaving a mark on my ass from smacking me so hard. When I pictured his long fingers gripping me by the throat, just to the point where I struggled to breathe. I didn’t usually think about fucking other men besides Bolton, but I’d thought about it a lot since I met Theo.