Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
“Anonymous.”
“How much?”
“Five hundred.”
“Half a mil. That’s not pocket change.” He realized he was silent for too long. “Thanks.” Priest tossed his cell on the passenger seat and scrubbed his hands over his face.
He could see Gabriel talking with the valet in the distance. That asshole was a big boy, so he wouldn’t mind if Priest had more important things to do. He started up the engine and did a U-turn on the dark road, heading back home. He had to check on Cleo, make sure everything was secure at the house. It had to be Bianchi who’d put out the hit. Priest had killed his top solider, Olivieri, and the crooked cop he’d sent to Cleo’s apartment.
There was no way Cleo was in danger. Priest was a stickler for procedure, always ensuring he was never tailed. His home was like Fort Knox. But part of him felt uneasy, so he had to be sure she was okay. Yes, she was a pain in the ass, but she was also young and innocent. She’d had a hard life and managed not to become bitter because of it all. That was a rarity.
And she was fucking beautiful. Long blonde hair had always been one of his weaknesses. Growing up, the women in his village all had dark hair and eyes.
Then there were the curves. He may not be like most men, but he appreciated a soft, feminine woman. Most women were obsessed with dieting, surgery, and keeping unnaturally thin. When he’d seen those diet pills in Cleo’s purse, it had pissed him off. Why change what was already perfection?
As he pulled up to his house, he immediately sensed something was off.
Before leaving his SUV, he had his gun in hand. A cool breeze drifted around his collar. A shroud of darkness followed him as he neared the house.
Step by step, he approached his front door, scanning the entire area.
Once he opened the door, he realized his entire security system was down. He knew damn well he’d turned it on before leaving. How had anyone bypassed his security?
He stopped to listen. There wasn’t a sound. It was too fucking quiet. After waiting another couple of minutes, he flicked on the system. An alarm immediately sounded. It was coming from the hall window.
When he went to check, everything was locked and intact.
Where was Cleo?
Priest had to do a complete sweep of the house before he could focus on anything else. Room by room, he made sure not a single item was out of place. The only thing that was off was the fact Cleo wasn’t there. He’d left her locked in her room, and no one would have been able to bypass his security system.
“Cleo!” She wasn’t there, so why call her name? “Cleo!”
Fuck!
The room closed in on him, his heartrate picking up. He leaned against the nearest wall, his body sliding down to the floor. He held his hands over his face, hoping to block out the memories. Priest was back in that day, the one that destroyed him.
“They’re gone.”
“What do you mean?” Priest asked.
“The church defended their enemies. So they retaliated.”
“They killed men of the cloth?”
“And their families.” He put a hand on Priest’s shoulder. “I’m sorry, my son.”
Plumes of smoke rose from the monastery, windows were shattered, and a body lay on the stone steps out front. He’d been gone only a few hours, ordered by the elder to gather supplies in the larger town to the east.
He’d come back to this. The local mafia had wreaked havoc in their town for years, forcing business owners into impossible extortion payments. The church refused to buckle, supporting the innocent and condemning evil. They were martyrs now, every last one.
Priest’s vision blurred. It wasn’t until he wiped his eyes that he realized tears had filled them. He didn’t cry—ever. Not even on that day. Not even when he found out his entire family had also paid the ultimate price, from his siblings to his grandparents. He was all that was left in his bloodline.
Now he’d failed Cleo. She’d been taken from him, and he had no idea where she’d been taken.
He got to his feet, forcing the memories back to the dark recesses of his mind.
First things first, how had they found them?
There was no fucking way they were followed. And no one besides Maurice knew about Cleo. Then he thought about the girl and what she’d had with her when they came to his house.
Her purse.
She’d gathered her things before they left the locker room at the hotel.
He rushed over to the kitchen and opened the lower cupboard, yanking out her purse and spilling the contents on the island. He used a hand to sift through the contents, doing a thorough inspection of every item. When he opened the pen, he found what he’d feared—a tracker. He looked at the shell of the pen and, sure enough, it was from the police department where Cleo had reported Marcus Olivieri. Now that he’d confirmed the how and who, he needed to know where, and that was making him more anxious than a caged tiger.