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)
Rowan shuts his eyes in surrender.
That’s right.
He came to me asking for help. Begging me to believe her about the abuse because the local cops didn’t. He pleaded with me to do whatever needed to be done in order to save his baby sister, swearing he’d take a pay cut or even go without it for years if it meant protecting them. He threw himself on his knees. Swore he was at my mercy and would forever be in my debt if I fulfilled the only request he had ever made in servitude to me, service which originally started as a favor from my father to his who would rather his computer savvy son live a life within the syndicate than executed for suspicion of treason when he stumbled into an off the book CIA arms deal.
Contrary to my husband’s belief, I have always taken care of those I rely on.
They just have to stop mistaking my kindness for weakness.
At the rate we’re going, I’m not going to have any left for them to mistake.
My face sardonically angles itself Yavok’s direction, “I’m sorry, did I ask that question out loud to you or one of the four horsemen of the fucking apocalypse that must be starting given your outrageous behavior lately?”
A heavy, defeated breath is exhaled. “Net. Not…use force on Rowan.”
“What did you use?”
“Moi slova.”
“And since when do your words matter more than mine?” His hesitation to answer has me diverting the question to the trembling, beanpole on the other end of the weapon. “Do his words matter more than mine, Rowan?”
“No, Madam.”
The lack of reluctance to respond receives a grin. “Eyes.”
He peals one lid open.
And then the other.
Sucks in a shaky breath prior to meeting my gaze.
“Are his words more powerful than mine?”
“No. Madam.”
“Then was it your fault or his that you sent the information over to him? Information, which he read, poorly assessed, and then used to bring in the Attack on Titan obsessed nerd for what could’ve been a slaughter had I not already done my due diligence?”
Rowan does his best to reply in a steady voice. “Mine.”
“Net!” my husband furiously yells. “Yavok fault! Punish Yavok! Punish Yavok instead!”
“Oh,” villainously beaming happens absentmindedly, “I’m gonna punish you both.”
“You don’t have to kill me, Madam,” the twenty-nine-year-old hacker whimpers out, tears threading themselves through his tone. “Really. I know I fucked up. I know I deserve whatever’s coming. Just…please don’t kill me. I’m not ready to die.”
Hearing him beg for his life successfully soothes a fraction of my stormy temperament. “Rowan, I wouldn’t have had you come all the way down here to kill you. That would ruin my new silk, Alexander McQueen rug with the stench of your shit and blood.” I gradually lower the gun as I continue, “If I wanted to kill you, I’d simply lace your keyboard with a poison that enters your system through touch and broadcast the footage in our entertainment room while I indulged in a glass of cognac along with a fresh batch of stove popped popcorn.”
An audible gulp echoes around the room.
“Sit on the couch.”
Rowan immediately transports himself to the low to ground, leather sofa occupying the wall closest to where Yavok is stationed.
“Take off a shoe.”
His desperation to be back in my good graces prevents him from demonstrating even an inkling of reluctance.
“And your sock.” While he scurries to complete the command, I return the firearm to its holster on a flirty smirk. “Mind if I borrow something else?”
Evans doesn’t even bat an eyelash. “You may have anything you like, Madam.”
The first growl of disapproval from Yavok significantly pales in comparison to the one that escapes when my fingertips land on my guard’s belt buckle. And rather than make eye contact with my husband, I keep my gaze planted in my security member’s. Execute every movement deliberately slow. Make each stroke seductive. Theatrically throw my body into the removal of the accessory so that my tits occasionally brush his chest, and my ass pops out for the admiring.
We both know this is simply for dramatic effect.
Part of Yavok’s punishment.
Unlike Ross – who wanted me to ride his dick so bad he was willing to die for it – Evans only wants one type on his cock and that’s the type that has a cock. However, like Wendell used to be when he was in charge of my detail, he allows me to use him how I see fit.
Like reminding my husband of a time when I would touch others but not him.
Sounds of furniture being scraped across the floor prompt me to purr, “If you get up from that chair, I will leave you tied to it until tomorrow morning and simply tell our children you were working late at the office before serving them zavtrak for dinner which is your favorite thing to do with them on a Friday night.”