Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 14744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 74(@200wpm)___ 59(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 14744 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 74(@200wpm)___ 59(@250wpm)___ 49(@300wpm)
As someone with insecurities as deep as the Mariana Trench, knowing I affect someone like Luca this way is a huge ego boost. He loves the curves Mom made fun of. He doesn’t mind my soft belly or thick thigh. On the contrary, he spends so much time exploring my body with his tongue and mouth and cock that he has managed to bury whatever thoughts I have that drag down my self-esteem.
With Luca, I feel like a brand new woman. I feel like someone worthy of affection, of intimacy, of … love.
Is it too soon to think of that? For him, maybe or maybe not. But me? I can deny it all I want, but I know deep down, I’m falling for him … fast and hard.
5
LUCA
If there’s any indication that I’m getting more and more attached to Lila, it’s the strange tug in my belly after I close the front door behind me. The realization that I don’t want to leave her—not even for a few hours—has me questioning my entire existence.
Attachment has never been a problem, which is why this life suited me. I live in a suitcase, spending most of my time either in airports or hotel rooms, and that’s fine.
Or it was.
But whatever. I can dissect these feelings once I’m done with this particular errand.
Rule #1: Tie up loose ends.
That’s exactly what I’m doing. I’ve spent the last two days eliminating possible suspects, which isn’t easy to do given how many people dear ole Dad scammed out of their pension or retirement funds or life savings.
I’m left with two men, both involved in some serious shady shit.
The first one lost five million to Dad, but after going through his finances, lifestyle, and vices, he’s not the guy. He likes his money—his three mistresses do too—but he doesn’t use a lot of muscle, just three bodyguards he surrounds himself with.
The second one, however, piques my interest.
Darin Dalton. Thirty-two years old. Worth eighty million dollars. Dabbles in all things illegal—pretty much anything and everything that can make him north of a million. Has a compound full of private military contractors.
And Dad was stupid enough to scam him twenty million.
What the fuck was he thinking? He knew he would have a target on his back the moment he ran off with Dalton’s money.
Then again, that’s Dad. He never thinks, just does whatever he wants, and fucks off everyone else—even his own family.
Especially his own family.
When I arrive near Dalton’s place, I sit in my car for a full five minutes, hands ghosting over my weapons—my trusty hand-forged Damascus steel Bowie knife, some fragmentation grenades, and two SIG Sauer P226s. And, of course, the bomb to end this once and for all.
It’s not much, but I’m going to have to wing it once inside. The last thing I need is getting dragged down by my bulk.
I think about Lila sitting at home, at the men who tried to hurt her or worse, and I feel the flame of fury licking my veins.
Anger sharpens my mind, like it always does, and clears my head. People will say not to fight angry, but I disagree. The angrier I am, the more efficient I become. A better weapon. A better killing machine.
With one deep breath, I step out of the car and toward the compound.
Getting inside is surprisingly easy, and I make it to his second-floor balcony without alerting anyone, dodging both guards and security cameras. Maybe because it’s broad daylight, and they know that the only intruders who will try to break in are fools. Which I am not.
Dalton is standing in front of his king-sized bed with nothing but a white towel wrapped around his waist. He’s an average-looking guy—light brown hair brushed back, deeply tanned, and basically a face that won’t ever stand out. A forgettable face, save for the cruel tilt to his mouth.
Two naked women lie on the mattress, and a third one is draped over the loveseat behind him.
He swipes through his phone and puts it against his ear, looking at the sleeping women and stepping out onto the balcony.
Wrong move.
I waste no time wrapping an arm around his neck, sticking the muzzle in his mouth, and dragging him toward the adjoining room, which apparently doubles as his home office. I use zip ties to tie him to a chair, and he struggles before I wrap a hand around his neck to cut off his oxygen.
His eyes widen with fear, and I say in a low voice, “Stay still, or I might accidentally break your bones or choke you to death.”
“W-who are you? What do you want?”
Satisfied that he’s secured, I step back and drag a chair so I can sit across from him. “I’m going to ask you a question. Answer yes or no. If I find out you’re lying, I’ll bury this knife in your thigh. Then, I ask the same question. If you lie again, I’m going to bury it in a different spot.” I grin at him. “So if you don’t give me an honest answer, you’re going to end up looking like a voodoo doll.”