Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
The thought of seeing my father has my heart racing wildly, anticipation prickling my skin. I hope he’s okay. Who am I kidding? He’s probably hurt, close to death. What if it’s the last time I see him? I don’t think Victor would do something so heinous to let me watch my father’s death. Would he?
I rush into the bathroom to wash my face and brush my teeth. I’m not sure why I’m doing it, I put it down to nerves. I hear the click of the bedroom door, as I’m combing a brush through my long dark hair. His cologne fills my nostrils, taking over my senses, and I know he’s in the bedroom. I can feel his presence like a storm cloud, heavy and foreboding, looming over me, and there’s no protection from his downpour.
When I enter the room, I find him perched on the foot of the bed. He seems so out of place in this feminine room that seeing him is jarring. As if he feels me behind him, he rises and turns to face me.
“Your father wanted to see you,” he informs me curtly. The earlier incident vanished, the anger, or whatever it was, is gone and his expression is smooth, calm almost. And I wonder if this is what he looks like before he kills someone.
“I thought he may be dead by now,” I offer an honest answer, instead of hiding what I really think. A dark brow arches at my retort, but he doesn’t respond, which frustrates me. I want him to react, I don’t know why, but there’s something about him that makes me want to see him lose control. Each time he’s entered the room, he’s been calm and cool; the only time I saw the real Victor Cordero, the one I’ve grown up learning about, was when he grabbed me by the throat earlier. His harsh hold on my neck left a ghost of his touch on my skin.
“Let’s go.” He turns to the door, expecting me to follow behind him like a damn puppy. As much as I want to refuse, to pout like a goddamned teenager, I can’t because he knows what I want. So, I bite my tongue and fall into step behind his large frame.
The house is so quiet, it’s as if there’s no one else here, but there must be. Surely, he has men surrounding the house, watching him, or watching for trouble on the grounds of his compound.
With every step we take, I allow my gaze to take in the doors, the walls, even the windows when we reach the center of the staircase. The place is a fortress. It’s alarming at how scary it looks from the outside, but inside, it’s decadent and beautiful. An elegant, alluring home that keeps the Devil in his cage.
A woman strolls into the foyer as we descend the stairs. She’s dressed in a long black dress, her hair is tied in a bun behind her head, and a thick necklace of large gleaming diamonds sits around her neck.
I don’t know why, but a pang of jealousy swirls in my gut, causing my breakfast to curdle in my stomach, threatening to make itself known, but I swallow the feeling down. Forcing it away, I watch her watch me.
“Is this her?” Her voice is cool, rigid, but her eyes never leave me as she speaks to Victor. I want to slap her for some reason. She sparks rage within my gut, but instead of acting out, I offer her a curt smile, keeping my head up.
13
Victor
Camila is staring Sofía down as if it’s her job to protect me. Her piercing eyes are locked on the beautiful girl beside me, and I wonder how she’d react if I told her I wanted Sofía to stay here. Perhaps forever.
“Is there something you needed, Cami?” She can tell by the sigh that leaves my lips that I’m not in the mood for this bullshit. I want to get to the warehouse and back before sundown. Camila shakes her head, offering me a smile, before she turns on her heel and heads down the hall toward the office.
“You really should keep your guard dogs at bay,” Sofía bites out behind me, causing me to chuckle. Glancing over my shoulder, my gaze meets hers, finding those grass green orbs penetrating me right to my black fucking soul.
“Are you jealous, juguete?”
Her body visibly vibrates with anger at my question, which only makes the challenge more entertaining. Watching her rage, seeing how she fights this thing between us, is adorable. When I whispered my lips across hers earlier, I felt it, I know she did too. And I know as much as I’m attracted to her, this will merely be a short-lived interaction.
“You’re an asshole, I will never be jealous of anyone wanting you.”