Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81767 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 409(@200wpm)___ 327(@250wpm)___ 273(@300wpm)
His cock throbs in my mouth and spurs me on. My mind screams at me to remember why I started sucking his dick in the first place, but it’s drowned out with a harsh growl when I hollow my cheeks. It gives me a sick thrill to know I’m the one making him lose it. I’m the one in charge. I’m the one making his thighs flex, his dick twitch, and his eyes narrow with pure lust. I move even faster, the tip of his cock hitting the back of my throat with each bob and suck.
“Fuck,” is all the warning he gives before he’s pulling at my hair so hard I whine.
Braken explodes hot and white in my mouth, his fingers tightening in my hair and holding me close.
Fuck! I wasn’t supposed to let him finish. I meant to regain a measure of control and blue ball him to high heaven. But glancing up at him, maybe I did get back some control. His forehead is sweaty, hair sticking to his skin, and his chest heaves. He inhales sharply when I swallow his cum and open my mouth, showing him there’s nothing left.
“Good boy,” I say and stand.
My knees are weak, and my jaw hurts, but I don’t give a shit because Braken’s expression is priceless. He looks absolutely gobsmacked. Maybe it’s because I just sucked the life out of him, or maybe I’m the first woman to call him a good boy. Either way, I drink it in, so I’ll never forget it.
I leave Braken in his office, pants still down and flaccid cock still wet. Braken might think he owns me, but I’m not going to sit back and let him lead. He may be the boss, but I’m the boss’s future wife, and I have plenty more ways left to remind him.
Chapter 24
Braken
It only takes three days to get a call from the hacker I keep under my employ. I know him as Nexxor, and he does anything I ask for the right price.
“Easy work you brought me this time. Car belongs to some old lady named Martha Viscant. She lives in Tacoma. I’ll send the address.”
“Payment will be at the usual spot,” I answer and hang up.
With a few extra calls, the payment for his services sits in a black duffel bag in the kitchen of a boat tied to the Marina Yacht Harbor. Cash makes it easy to pay off my contacts. I don’t put my name to anything that can be linked back to me. The boat I use for handoffs is under someone else’s name. I have a burner phone where Nexxor sends his information when needed. If someone demands to meet me in person, I send Jasper instead. Even the smartest men fall because of a digital slip-up. I won’t be one of them.
As soon as Nexxor sends the address, I order Jasper to grab the car and take us there.
I highly doubt a little old lady in Tacoma is the culprit. The Godwins are technically in the shipping business, and I can’t see them screwing over some grandma enough to make her bomb the eldest son. That goes double for their real dealings. It could be a grandkid who borrowed the car, or even some car thief who took it for a murder ride. Hopefully, Martha has answers or else I’m at a dead end.
A short while later, we pull up at a little rundown house on the outskirts of the city. The grass outside is overgrown, and the stairs leading up to the front door are cracked and lopsided. The front window is open, and a TV is blaring an afternoon court show as I approach the entrance. There’s no car in the driveway nor is there a garage, so that means someone probably stole it. Shit. If that’s the case, it will be hard to track down.
I knock on the door, but it’s drowned out by the loud TV. I knock three times before someone calls, “What do you want?”
“Old lady” is putting it nicely. Martha is just over half my height, bent over a cane that matches her frail legs. She squints at me from behind huge glasses as she opens the squeaky screen door. A hearing aid in her left ear is barely visible between her tightly permed white hair.
“Who are you?” she demands.
I put on my best businessman smile. “My name’s Braken, and I’m about the—”
“I ain’t selling the house, so get off my porch.”
“I’m actually here about the car.”
“Already sold it, so scram.”
Martha’s about to slam the door in my face when I grab it and keep it open. She stares up at me half-pissed, half-curious, and lets go of the metal handle.
“You seem like a straight-forward person, so I’ll cut to the chase. Your car was used in the murder of my brother-in-law.”