Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 46838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 234(@200wpm)___ 187(@250wpm)___ 156(@300wpm)
“I am a legitimate businessman here to open a laundromat,” he says. “A few washing companies, if you get my drift?”
His tone implies he’s using some slick code, but it’s clear he’s talking about money laundering and thinks I should be impressed.
“Good for you. That doesn’t explain why you’re here, though.”
“Oh, but it does….”
He arches his eyebrow, and then I get it.
I start laughing, shaking my head.
“Is something funny?” he snaps.
“I’d never launder money for you.”
“Woah,” Emil grins, raising his hands. “Don’t speak so fast, my friend. Who said anything about laundering money?”
“That’s why you’re here. It’s stupid. Why would I risk my business working with you when I never risked my career before?”
“Maybe I dislike your attitude. Maybe I dislike being made to feel like I am less important than other men. They have a saying about me back home. Emil never forgets. Some men call me the Elephant.”
“Good for them,” I grunt. “The answer’s no.”
“For the record, I haven’t asked you anything. I really am here to open a laundromat chain, among other businesses.”
“Great.”
“If you decide you don’t want to become my valued colleague, you may find your life difficult.”
“Like Sante Muerte statues through my window?” I growl, stepping close to him, staring into his eyes so he can see the fury raging in mine. “Is that the sort of difficulties I’ll have?”
Emil shrugs, acting like the most innocent man in the world. “I couldn’t possibly say.”
“Leave me alone, Emil. I don’t want this to get ugly.”
“No,” he calls at my back as I push past him. “You really don’t… I never forget, Killian.”
I head upstairs, greeting Speeder and letting him onto the balcony. Leaning against the cold railing, I look over the city, my temples pulsing as I try to contain my fighting instincts.
My body was telling me to flip into fight mode, to unchain myself and throw everything I had at that man for even implying I’d work with him.
Apparently, he has a new nickname. I had never heard it before.
The Elephant.
Or maybe the ass invented it for himself.
Taking out my phone, I send Mia a text.
Sorry. I was taking care of business.
I pause before I send, studying the text, wondering if I should add the next bit.
My body can somehow turn the rage to blazing desire, to fiery possession almost instantly.
I add, I want to see you. Tell me why I can’t.
She said it had something to do with her dad.
She might not want to share it, but that’s just got me more curious about her.
Clicking send, I know I have to be careful now that Emil’s made his plans known.
When I meet with Mia, I have to make sure Emil doesn’t see her.
Before, when I refused to fix fights, there was nobody he could target.
No wife, no girlfriend, no kids, no family….
But now, I’ve got Mia, even if she doesn’t know it yet.
My phone vibrates. Speeder tilts his head up at the noise, his eyes sparking as though with curiosity.
It’s like he wants to know why there’s this change in me.
Dogs are smart. He can sense it, buried deep inside of me, this feeling that my life is never going to be the same.
Something shattered and became whole in me the instant I looked at my woman.
It’s difficult to explain. And you’ll probably find it boring. It’s family stuff.
I sit on the chair, Emil drifting from my mind, though I know I will have to take steps to combat that ass.
At least I’ll need to hire extra security for my tattoo parlor.
We’re going to have to meet when I tattoo you, Mia.
That’s a convenient excuse, a way to formulate this which doesn’t include all the hunger pounding inside of me, the starvation, and there’s only one thing which could ever satiate me.
My Mia.
I probably shouldn’t have even messaged you about that. I want a tattoo to honor my Dad, but I haven’t got the money. And even if I did have the money, I’m not very good at social stuff or at leaving the house at all, really.
I imagine her sitting up in bed, texting frantically like she thinks I’m going to back away the moment she starts sharing anything personal.
You don’t leave the house? I text instead.
I want to ask, What happened to you, Mia? Who did this? Let me help you….
She responds. Not much. I work from home as a customer rep using a chat program. When I have to get groceries or Mom’s meds, I rush as fast as I can, and even that’s difficult.
Difficult, how? I send.
This can’t be what you want to hear. The text comes in immediately, meaning she must’ve sent it before reading my latest one. After the dirty talk, after what we shared… you don’t want to think I’m some loner loser freak, do you? You want somebody fun and exciting, not somebody who will bury you with all their issues.