Total pages in book: 161
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“It’s been a while,” she said loud enough for me to hear, breaking the silence. Her tone laced with nothing but worry. “Your sister let me in. She said to go out back and you would find me. I know what you’re thinking, but I’m not here for Amari, I’m here for you.”
“Why?” I found myself asking, holding back the desire to reach over and touch her, knowing it would only frighten her.
“You never gave me a chance to say thank you after that horrible night. They were about to rape me and God knows what else. It has taken me months to wrap my head around it. I’ve been trying to heal, both physically and mentally. When you found us, I remember thinking God sent us an angel. You saved my life, Alejandro,” she paused, letting her words linger. “I can’t begin to tell you how grateful I am. Thank you for—”
“Now, tell me why you’re really here,” I interrupted, needing to know.
This was all very touching, but I was tired of the bullshit. I had enough of that in my life.
She immediately turned to look at me, locking eyes. Her intense gaze lit me on fire in a way I hadn’t ever experienced before. I never wanted to kiss someone as much as I did her at that moment. There were so many what ifs racing through my mind in an instant, so many consequences and scenarios that could happen, so many fucking choices that could be right or wrong. She needed to stay away from me. That was the right thing to do. I was no good for her.
She looked at me as a savior, her hero, when I was anything but those things.
I reached over and caressed the side of her face. She leaned into my embrace like she had been waiting for me to do it since the second I sat down beside her. My thumb moved toward her pouty lips, rubbing off the lipstick that she wore for me.
I didn’t want her to pretend to be anything but what she was. She closed her eyes, melting into my touch.
Her breathing hitched when I pulled on her bottom lip. My hand suddenly moved to grip the back of her neck and bring her toward me.
I knew this was wrong.
I knew I should have stopped.
I knew there was no coming back from this.
I gently pecked her lips, beckoning them to open for me. She did, releasing a soft moan when she felt my tongue in her mouth.
See, I also knew I was going to Hell.
I just never imagined…
I would be taking her with me.
“How many assault rifles are in the crates?” Dad asked the black-market arms broker during a meeting at one of his warehouses downtown.
He had me attend more and more meetings over the last year, molding me into the prodigal son. Always reminding me that this would all be mine one day.
As if I could forget.
We all sat around a rectangular mahogany table in the middle of a wide-open space. It looked like a scene from a mobster movie. My dad was at the head of the table¸ of course, and I was sitting beside him. The two arms brokers were sitting across from me, with smug looks on their faces. There were three bodyguards behind my dad, and one behind me. Two more stood watch by the door.
If the two motherfuckers tried to pull anything, they wouldn't be walking out of there alive.
“Four to five,” he replied in a thick Russian accent.
“It’s either four or it’s five. Which one is it? I don't have time for your bullshit.”
“Usually four.”
“Usted lo que esta dicendo es…” Dad snapped, “So what you’re saying… is that you were trying to fuck me when you already knew it was four. You just wanted me to pay for five?”
“No, that’s—”
He put his hand up in the air, silencing him. “That wasn’t a question. My reputation speaks for itself. Would you like me to remind you what I’m known for, hijos de putas?” Dad sneered, “Son of bitches.”
The arms brokers looked at each other suspiciously then back at my dad. By the look on their faces they wanted to tell him to go fuck himself, but they knew better. Dad sat there with his head cocked to the side, sizing the men up. Lazily spinning the Glock sitting in front of him like a roulette wheel. Stopping it every time it pointed to the Russians.
“I want a thousand rounds of ammunition for each of those rifles.”
“We can do five hundred.”
He didn’t falter, arguing, “If I wanted five hundred, I would have said five hundred. Four assault rifles per crate. I want a hundred crates. I’ll pay you two thousand a crate, five hundred per rifle and fifty thousand for the ammo. That’s two hundred and fifty thousand total.”