Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126060 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Elie frowned and leaned forward. “When you say young, how old were you?”
“I lost my parents, the last of my family, when I had just turned four. Jean-Claude took over my training.”
Elie swore and leapt up, pacing across the room. He glared at Stefano. “I thought you told me Jean-Claude learned his lesson after he fucked up my life. He specifically trained her to investigate extremely dangerous riders. Her cover was her dancing. She had no family, so she was a perfect candidate for him. A fucking four-year-old.”
For a moment, anger swirled beneath the surface, but Geno shoved it down. Amaranthe had no family. There was no question Jean-Claude had taken advantage. The Archambaults were ruthless. He knew because they had trained him to be ruthless. He never could have become the leader of his family and the New York riders if they hadn’t given him the skills they had. Amaranthe would most likely be dead if she hadn’t been given the elite training she’d been given—or Jean-Claude could have trained her to be a regular rider or one of his riders.
Stefano asked the question burning in Geno’s mind. “I’m not certain I understand the difference between an Archambault assassin sent out and someone like Amaranthe.”
Elie sat back in the chair. “The Archambault investigators use computers, just as our investigators do when complaints are made against a shadow rider or a member of the shadow-riding family. If that complaint is determined to be legitimate and the rider or member of the family needs justice served, a rider is dispatched, and the sentence is carried out.”
“Amaranthe is not one of those riders.” Stefano made it a statement.
Elie shook his head. “She is not. If a shadow rider is deemed extremely dangerous and the investigators can’t find the truth through normal channels, an elite investigator is sent. They are rare. Only a couple. They go deep undercover. Sometimes weeks. Sometimes months. They conduct an investigation and send what they find and their conclusions to the Archambault investigators. An elite investigator not only is trained differently, but they are often born with a unique sense about them, a gift, that is highly developed to follow a trail others can’t detect.”
“I understand you’re upset on my behalf, Elie,” Amaranthe said. “But there’s no need. I love what I do, and as a rule, I’m very good at it.”
Geno didn’t look at Elie or Amaranthe. He didn’t expect the sudden smoldering sense of possessiveness rushing over him at the sweet tone she used when she spoke to Archambault. She even addressed him by his first name. He knew Elie. They were close friends. Elie was married and madly in love with his wife, Brielle. Still, even knowing that, it didn’t stop the strange and very unfamiliar emotions welling up out of nowhere. Could he be jealous? Such a trait would be beneath him. The lack of control bothered him when he was a man always in control.
He shifted in his chair, so his large frame was caught in the light. Instantly, his shadow connected with Amaranthe’s shadow, coiling around hers. This time he was prepared for the brutal sexual need surging through his body. He kept his cold mask in place, as if he weren’t in the least affected, not even when she gave a shocked gasp and her gaze jumped to his. If she thought she was going to escape him because she was an Archambault, she had another think coming. He didn’t give a damn what Jean-Claude or anyone else decreed, no one was taking her away from him—not even her.
“You don’t understand the way the Archambaults work,” Elie said, his tone soft, at once calmer and more controlled. “They see the potential in children, even toddlers. That’s their gift. At least it’s Jean-Claude’s gift. If the child has no family, or the parents prefer not to have him or her around, all the better. You didn’t have a chance at any other life, Amara. You should have had a childhood, not a life of duty. And don’t tell me you had a childhood, because I know you didn’t.”
Geno was connected with Amaranthe, his mind touching hers. He caught glimpses of her earlier life, small vignettes, a little girl forced to recite entire books in several languages while she punched and kicked a heavy bag. At night, alone in her bed, she would look at her feet—her toes were bleeding. His heart clenched hard in his chest. She didn’t have anyone advocating for her. At least he stood for his brothers, and they had been older than she had been when the Archambaults had begun her training.
Amaranthe moved in her chair, doing her best to move her shadow out of the light. If they ask me questions, I can’t answer them properly.
The intimacy of speaking telepathically added to the jagged white-hot lightning spiking between them. Every nerve ending was aware of her. Every cell in his body. Her breathless honesty was nearly as arousing as the way their shadows wrapped around each other so determinedly. He shifted back in his chair giving them both respite from the intense sexual tension.