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)
I dropped my responsibilities when she was free, so when she was unavailable, I threw myself back into work. A lot of shit required my attention that I’d blown off to give my full attention to her. I had two motherfuckers to kill, and it was time to get my hands bloody.
“One of our snitches in the Brotherhood says Bolton usually wines and dines his clients at a few favorite spots across Europe,” Octavio said. “And I guess he’s got a big contract with Claude Vanderbilt. He wants a lot of people dead.”
Claude was in the trafficking game. He had a worldwide organization that operated in several countries. He was always changing his tactics and channels because the authorities were always hot on his tail. He’d managed to shake them for decades, always one step ahead. “You really have to be a scumbag to take a contract from that asshole.” I smoked my cigar as I sat across from him at the table. “Who does he want dead?”
“I’m not sure, but he’s got a list,” Octavio said. “Our informant says they’re supposed to meet for dinner next week to finalize the details.”
“Out in the open?”
“I guess Bolton considers public dining a flex.”
“What did Fender say?”
Octavio sat on the couch with a cigar between his fingertips. “He would ask some old contacts what they know—but only as a favor to you. He said he’s made it very clear he’s walked away.”
“That’s bullshit,” I said. “He knows you’re never really out once you’re in.”
“He said he’ll call you when he knows something.”
“Good.” I took another puff of the cigar and let the smoke rise to the ceiling. It’d been almost a week since I’d spoken to Astrid, and the withdrawals had started to kick in. I didn’t have a replacement in my bed, so when she was gone, I was alone. She probably fucked her husband when we were apart, so she didn’t feel the same drought.
Octavio left, and I remained in the armchair, looking at the painting across from me, the painting of the changeling. I’d stared at it so many times but continued to see new details. It was a creature clearly out of place, so distinct it couldn’t blend into the world it was supposed to invade, and that was exactly how I felt every day of my fucking life.
I used to be someone else, but I’d changed.
I’d changed a long time ago, ten years, a fucking decade…but I still remembered.
I also saw her when I looked at the painting, someone who was forced to change against her will. But then she embraced that change—and made it her own.
At that moment, my phone lit up with a message. It wasn’t from one of my guys or Axel.
It was her.
What are you doing?
I hated open-ended questions like that, but it didn’t feel like a nuisance coming from her. Staring at your paintings.
Would you like to stare at something else?
My cock instantly came alive in my sweatpants, picturing her bent over the couch with her beautiful ass on display, looking back at me with a sexy taunt. Get over here. It’d been the longest stretch of silence we’d had. So long, I’d started to wonder if she and her husband had decided to be monogamous again. Would she let me know? Or was I unworthy of a notice of eviction?
Should I pack a bag?
You don’t need clothes in my house—if that answers your question.
Her messages went silent, and her dots disappeared.
My attention turned back to the painting once more…and I waited.
It seemed like she’d gone through a dry spell as well because she was all over me the second she walked inside. She rose on her tallest tiptoes and reached her arms around my neck as far as the distance would allow. Her lips were anxious on mine, kissing me like a lover she hadn’t seen in months rather than days.
I hated to bend my neck down so far or strain hers in the opposite direction, so I scooped her into my arms and elevated her to my height, holding her like she weighed nothing, my hands gripping that summer-peach of an ass.
She hooked her arms fully around my neck, and she kissed me slowly but passionately, giving me her tongue before I could give her mine. Her fingers dug into my hair, and she pressed her tits against my bare chest. “I missed you.” She spoke against my lips, barely breaking our embrace to whisper those words to me, like the last thing she wanted was a response.
I sat in the middle of the couch and felt her weight on my lap, my hard dick like a log of firewood between us. If she dragged her pussy down fast enough, she would light the match and burn us with the flames.