Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 124323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124323 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 622(@200wpm)___ 497(@250wpm)___ 414(@300wpm)
“It’s worth it for a lifetime of happiness.”
“Exactly.” She came closer, pressing into me and cupping my cheeks with both her hands. “I’m not saying goodbye to you again...I can’t.”
Our skin ignited. My cock threatened to come from no other stimulation. Electricity infected both of us, making her shiver and me shudder. Parts of me that’d always taken what he wanted, regardless of consequences, very almost won. My hands twitched to grab her and take her anyway. My desire was a dangerous, demented thing.
But as she tipped forward, and her mouth met mine, I gave up control.
I groaned as her delicate tongue licked my lips, then sought mine.
I met her with a sensual taste, closing my eyes and focusing entirely on where we joined.
This kiss was sweet and soft, but it crippled me in ways no other kiss had before.
This was her, my perfect curse-breaking Jinx, letting me into deeper parts of her heart.
This wasn’t about desire or bodily gratification but the start of our forever.
It was the best fucking kiss of my life.
* * * * *
Thirteen days since I’d woken and each day, I was stronger.
I no longer passed out at inconvenient times. My body was back under control, and each session of physiotherapy meant my muscles rebuilt and strength returned.
After a gruelling session of standing and bearing weight on legs that’d taken their fair share of beatings, I sat at a temporary desk by the deck overlooking Nirvana. Eleanor had gone to visit Jess and taken the two parrots with her, my doctors were enjoying the afternoon off and planning their return to Geneva, Cal was busy overseeing the faulty sensors and snares ringing my shores, and I was alone to slip back into my role as CEO of Sinclair and Sinclair Group.
My time was no longer split between legal and illegal enterprises. I didn’t have emails requesting week-long stays or in-depth details of depraved fantasies to code. No new goddesses to request or daily orders of their wants and needs to complete. It felt odd not juggling two very different companies. To no longer see the dark web page where my island promised deviant desires for hire.
Cal had removed the details of my islands, and Eleanor had taken care of feed requirements and vet arrivals for the rescues that I hadn’t had the tolerance to visit yet.
All I had was jargon heavy emails, encyclopaedia-sized PDFs, and regular briefings with Peter Beck.
As the sun set on the thirteenth day since I’d been reincarnated from a heartless procurer into a man striving to be the best husband he could be, an email from an encrypted address arrived.
At first, I thought it might be from the traffickers who’d bounced my last request and then vanished. However, the address was wrong.
And the contents? Well, it was a threat, pure and fucking simple.
To: S.Sinclair@goddessisles.com
From: Sparrow@292840.com
Subject: Bonjour
To Mr. Sullivan Sinclair,
You have recently come to my attention.
I will be frank so you are not confused by the following.
Due to your dealings with a certain trafficking outfit, you are now next on my list. That company has recently been shut down, and its staff are enjoying a never-ending retirement, if you catch my meaning.
If you don’t, allow me to elaborate.
They are dead.
The men you used to source, select, and ship women to your islands are now in pieces. Unfortunately for you, and their other clients, they kept comprehensive records on girls acquired, money received, and locations they were sent.
You, Mr. Sinclair, are one of the worst.
You have purchased thirteen women with a value of over four million dollars.
Is that what a life is worth to you? If it is, you must allow me the decency of teaching you that there are four million ways a man can die.
You are going to die.
I have the coordinates for your islands.
I am coming.
Cordialement,
Q
Q?
Who the fuck was Q?
What sort of cunt emailed such things with such high and mighty bullshit?
Fucking bastard.
I’d kill him.
Adrenaline flooded my veins as I grabbed my phone to call Cal and have him watch the horizon for more boats bringing war. My jaw clenched as I swiped on the device, my mind racing with battle enforcements and yet another fight that I had no energy to endure.
Goddammit, we’d just finished a nightmare. The thought of living through another one? Of losing Eleanor to yet another asshole who thought he could take what wasn’t his?
No.
Fuck no.
Whoever this cocksucker was, he would not disrupt my happiness. I would not allow him to ruin everything I never thought I’d earn.
The man he wanted to kill was dead.
He was talking about a ghost, and the man I was now...I fucking refused to die (again) when I was so, so close to being happy.
I’d matured since and I could handle this without bloodshed.
I think.
With a steady hand, I placed my cell phone back on the desk and clicked reply.