Total pages in book: 50
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
I increase my pace, pumping my arms and legs harder to round the park and make it to the other side of the fountain. Jogging in place for a few minutes, I come to an abrupt stop at the park’s north entrance as I watch her.
I blend in perfectly with the crowd of joggers and parkgoers, all of us taking advantage of the post-rain sunshine. I stand and stare while I stretch my hamstrings and then my quads and arms, soaking up the conversation between Frankie and her partner. I can hear her slightly husky voice as she tries to unravel the mystery. Of me. Trying to find the thread that connects those assholes, but I’ve made sure she’ll never find it. I’m meticulous, leaving nothing to chance, and it’s a damn good thing because a detective like Francesca, with her razor-sharp intellect and relentless determination, is a worthy opponent.
For once.
She’s frustrated by her lack of progress, and I understand that because it’s my job to confound her. It’s taken years to plan my revenge, and I won’t let anyone stand in my way.
Not even you, kitten.
Detective DeMarco turns and scans the growing crowd, and I swear her gaze collides with mine. The impact for me is like being struck by a Mack truck, but with my sunglasses on she can’t tell if I’m watching her or rubbernecking like all the others. But I sense the connection with such intensity and rawness, as if there is a tether binding us, and the tingling sensation on my skin assures me that I’m alive, almost as alive as when I’m hunting. Or killing.
Almost.
With a knowing smirk tugging at the corner of my mouth, I break the staring contest first and smile at Francesca. Does she see me? I can’t tell for sure, but I think that little grin playing on her full, luscious lips is meant just for me. A secret acknowledgment of the twisted game we’re playing.
My watch beeps, telling me it’s time to put on my daytime mask as Damien Wolfe, the handsome and charming, smart-as-a-whip software developer who rules over the tech industry with an iron fist in a velvet glove.
I jog away from the crime scene and back to my penthouse, where I shed my sweaty clothes and step into a steaming hot shower. The scalding water pours over me, washing away any trace of the dark deeds I’ve committed.
I dress carefully in a perfectly tailored Armani suit, the fine Italian fabric sliding over my skin like armor. It completes the mask I wear for roughly twelve hours each day, the facade of a successful, respectable businessman. I love the way it feels on my body. It’s smart, sophisticated, and powerful.
No one would ever suspect the monster lurking beneath the designer labels and megawatt smile. And that’s exactly how I like it.
I stride into my office, my mind buzzing with the thrill of last night’s kill. Another name crossed off The List, another asshole permanently removed from this world. It’s a thrill, knowing I can dispense justice where the system fails.
Jess, my assistant, jumps to attention as I exit the elevator, her heels clicking rapidly on the marble floor as she rushes to my side.
“Mr. Wolfe,” she says, a vision in pink. Jess looks more like a real housewife of wherever than she does the best damn executive assistant I’ve ever had. I’d be lost without her.
“Good morning,” she continues, keeping step with me. Word on the street is that Justin Storm is considering selling, and you’re scheduled to meet with him at 11 today.
I freeze, my eyes narrow. “Where did you hear that?”
In my world, information is currency, and I pride myself on always being one step ahead. The thought that something could have slipped past me deeply unsettles me.
Jess shrugs, unfazed by my intensity. “I ran into his assistant last night at On the Rocks. Poor thing is overworked and underappreciated, and I’m a good listener,” she explains with a mischievous glint in her eyes.
I chuckle. “Am I paying you enough?”
“Can one ever be paid too much?” she says with an easy laugh as she follows me into my sprawling corner office. The view of downtown LA never fails to take my breath away, but my eyes quickly return to the portfolio Jess sets on my desk.
“Anyway, I put together a portfolio of what he has, highlighting what I think would most interest you. The research on reactivating neural pathways, which was scrapped for cost not bad science,” she adds. “There’s not much time before he arrives,” she says, glancing at her watch before setting down the coffee mug and leaving me at peace to look over her research.
I lean back in my leather chair and take a moment to savor the news. Oh, the money I could make with technology like this. The secrets I could uncover, the enemies I could unmake. A slow, wicked smile spreads across my face.