Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 210(@250wpm)___ 175(@300wpm)
Rumor on the street is that Stephanos is still alive, suffering minor injuries from a bullet to the shoulder. He’s convalescing the same way he’s survived the past few decades, by burrowing deep into Metropolis’ underworld like a rat. He’s spent a lifetime avoiding the four main crime Families, carving out a living on the edges of our territory, scavenging for scraps, and he’s good at it.
My mother’s death is still unavenged. But I’m alive and hidden from retaliation in a safe house Royal insisted on. I have a desk and a row machine on the deck facing the water. It’s boring in a Zen way.
Today, the heat is a heavy blanket in the air, making the afternoon hours stretch long and lazy. It’s perfect for naps but less perfect for trying to focus on contract law. Alas, contract law is what pays the bills.
My phone rings, and I reach for it, only to realize it’s not my cell. It’s another phone I keep tucked away like a dirty secret—the burner I took from Victor after our night together. I don’t know why I held on to it, much less kept it charged and close by. It sits in its own bottom drawer, and now it’s buzzing angrily, waiting for me to make a decision. I snatch it up and answer it, but keep quiet as I hold it to my ear.
The moment is charged with electricity. There’s a twinge in my thigh right where I was wounded in the shootout.
There’s silence on the other end of the line. I bite my lip to keep from shrieking. Who is this? Who called me? As far as I know, only Victor used this phone and only to contact Stephanos. It’s standard protocol for a professional hitman—buy a burner phone, use it for a single job, then toss it. I never tried using the phone to lock onto Stephanos. I didn’t think it would work. Could he be calling now?
I’m about to say something when I hear a slight sound. A sigh, a heavy gust of labored breathing, and then one word.
“Vera.”
I hang up and let the burner phone fall into its drawer with a clatter. Adrenaline blasts up my arms, screaming at me to run, run, run!
I know who called me. That rasping voice filled with the threat of revenge could only be Victor.
My small Sig Sauer lives in another drawer, always loaded. The cool weight settles into my palm. I switch off the safety and set off on a jerky walk around the house, checking locks, closing the sliding door that leads to the deck, and arming the security system. I search each room, gun first, and deconstruct every shadow.
I end up in the kitchen. I keep my gun close, safety still off. The trees between me and the river sway, sending shadows flickering across the glass panes of the French doors. Any moment, I expect the dark shapes to morph into a six-foot-something hitman with a cruel smile. But they never do.
He’s not here. Of course, he isn’t. He’s not a bogeyman haunting me.
He’s not dead, either, apparently. A part of me hoped he wasn’t. Another shameful part conjures him up regularly as a nighttime companion. In the hours between sleeping and waking, my subconscious recalls the orgasms he gave me and makes new fantasies. I wake throbbing with arousal and stroke myself to completion, always with Victor’s name on my tongue when I come.
Try as I might, I haven’t been able to exorcize him completely. And now he’s called me.
I’m safe here. Royal equipped this place with the best of the best. He posted a guard for a while before I argued that two dark-haired men lurking in the driveway would draw more attention from the wealthy neighbors than a standoffish single woman living alone. I promised to be careful. Then I took him to the range and showed him my shooting scores, and he finally backed off.
Dusk falls. I eat my dinner of yogurt and a handful of walnuts at the kitchen counter, watching the sun’s golden fingers stretch across the water, slowly losing its battle with the oncoming night.
I realize I’m rubbing my chest and drop my hand. I miss my sword necklace. I could replace it, but I want my old one back.
I drink a glass of water, then give in to my cravings and open a bottle of wine. A brassy merlot, bold enough to wash the rest of my jitters away.
My phone rings again. I jump ten feet into the air before I realize it’s my real one.
“Royal,” I answer. “Checking in so soon?” We had a phone meeting only this morning.
“I can’t check in on my favorite cousin?” His voice is warm. He’s always happier at night after he’s been home for a few hours with his wife.