Total pages in book: 37
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 121(@300wpm)
My security guard transitions himself from the corner of the room he has been lingering in, to the door which he opens upon Ken’s arrival. The two wordlessly exit the area with Evans quietly shutting the blockade behind him.
Silent rage relentlessly runs rampant around the room until nothing more than the faint sounds of my shaky breaths can be heard.
Yavok wisely doesn’t open his mouth.
Doesn’t drop his gaze.
He merely waits in the thick, tension filled space, body paralyzed in anticipation of the punishment he rightfully assumes is pending.
“At least you’re smart enough to remember to not speak unless spoken to,” I snip just above a whisper.
Guilt glazes over his crystal gray stare.
“Why you think I’m not smart enough to know that a man like Ken Messer isn’t capable of the accusations you made is the real question here. That and why the fuck you suddenly find it acceptable to make orders on my. Fucking. Behalf.” Rising onto my red and gold stiletto heels is done slow. Painstakingly slow. “Tell me this shit is some jetlag infused hallucination!” I slam my palms harshly onto the space in front of me. “Fucking tell me the man I let take my fucking last name did not just betray my fucking trust!”
“Yavok only try to help!”
“By nearly getting some bumbling buffoon murdered before noon?!”
“He-”
“Lacks the confidence, capacity, and capability to commit the type of cardinal sin you idiotically accused him of!”
“Not idiot,” hisses my husband.
“No?” I promptly mock on a lifted brow. “You think a man who had to pay to lose his virginity at twenty-nine, reads Ready Player One four times a year, and has had the same trite arcade themed password possesses the arrogance and skill needed to send money through shell companies to unidentified accounts and cover his digital tracks all the while leaving just enough breadcrumbs behind to make someone else look guilty?”
“Not…know…that. ” His mouth struggles to release an argument. “Not…know…more than…unusual bank account activity.”
“By unusual account activity I assume you mean the three large direct deposits from a few weeks ago?”
There’s a slight shift in his frame during a quietly murmured, “Da.”
“The three large direct deposits were returns from personal investments he made on a small video game company that was recently bought out by a much larger one, a manga series that’s now being produced by a major streaming network, and an arcade themed food truck. The direct deposits you felt were worthy of interrogation were ones that I had already vetted.”
“Ya tozhe etogo ne znala.”
“And why the fuck would you know that, Yavok!? It isn’t your job or responsibility!” Slamming my hands on the furniture occurs on a brutally barked, “It’s mine!”
His sheepish nodding should simmer my outrage but only manages to provoke more.
Boost up the pressure cooking him in the room.
“You had no fucking right to interfere with this shit!”
“Olen pahoillani vaimoni.”
“Fuck being sorry. Be respectful!”
The double tap on the door precedes Evans reentering the room, this time with a different guest trailing behind him.
Head of my personal digital security team has barely finished crossing the threshold when my husband yells out, “Not kill Rowan for Yavok mistake!”
Rowan’s dark eyes and mouth widen in tandem on a loud, “What?!”
Rippling resentment is attached to a seething snarl, “Fucking really?! It wasn’t enough to interfere with the foundation, now you wanna tell me how to deal with my fucking staff?”
“I personally like the not killing me part,” Rowan meekly inserts into the conversation.
“What’s next, Yavok? You gonna tell me how to properly insert a tampon?” Leisurely sauntering around the edge of my long desk, past his chair is accompanied by another snarky comment. “Maybe the best method for checking my tits in the shower for lumps?”
His lips briefly press together before he firmly insists, “Not Rowan fault. Yavok give order. Is Yavok’s fault. Only. Yavok.”
“Is that so?” I sassily hum during my stroll to where my security guard has his back braced against the closed door. As soon as his weapon is within reach, I unholster it. “Did you put a gun to his head?” The cocked firearm is swiftly pressed into Rowan’s temple. “Like this?”
Rowan’s pale porcelain face struggles not to quiver prompting me to viciously smirk.
Good.
He should be fucking terrified.
It means he hasn’t forgotten how ruthless I can be.
Will be.
Am itching to be.
“Answer me.” My command is given to the man across the room while digging the gun further into my second favorite hacker’s flesh. “Did you put a gun to his head to force him to do as he was told?”
“No.”
“Did you threaten to find out where his recently widowed sister – a domestic abuse survivor – and niece were safely relocated to in Bungalow Harbor, right outside of Pasadena, after the death of her husband who just so happened to die in a horrific housefire due to supposed faulty wiring?”