Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55375 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 277(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“I don’t know a damn thing,” I snap.
“Sure, Rafael,” he says, completely unfazed.
I reach into my pocket and take out the photo. This is my last-ditch effort. Otherwise, it’ll be an anticlimactic bullet in the head. I wanted so much more from the famous Jacob Jennings, the man who’s gone after our operations like a demon these past six months, almost like he was chasing death.
“What about this little bald gentleman, then?”
I show him a photo of Mike Wilson with his daughter, taken a few days ago, outside their house. Jacob shows a flicker of fear for the first time since we caught him. I’m very good at reading fear, and this is real.
“You motherfucker,” he says, finally giving me what I want. “You bastard.”
“Before I put you out of your misery, I’ll show you a picture of their corpses.”
“Dropping bodies Stateside just to make a point?” he growls, sounding almost like an animal. Despite his condition, I sense nervousness from the men. He is chained and naked, and yet the men are nervous. It’s absurd, but I know I’m reading their signals correctly.
“You are not some big bad bogeyman, Jacob. When my men see the videos of you weeping like a child over your little friend, they’ll say you’re a worm.”
“You won’t touch them,” he snaps. “Just like you haven’t got the balls to put a bullet in my head. There’s a reason you haven’t touched my face. You know Uncle Sam wouldn’t stop until he hunted every single one of you down and gutted you like pigs.”
“Don’t try to act tough now.” I march across the room and put my pistol against his head. “I already saw what a scared little bitch you—”
I don’t know how it happens or how a man so injured and big can move so fast. He pulls the chain loose from the ceiling and slams it into me. I fire off a shot, but I must miss. Then he violently tears the gun from my hand and starts shooting. My ears burst from the closeness of the shot.
By the time I climb to my feet, two of my men are dead, and the door is swinging on its hinges.
“Get him!” I roar.
But it’s Jacob Jennings. Somehow, the naked, bloody, injured man gets away.
He’s just made this so much worse for himself. Two of my men are dead. He was right before. Causing any issues in the US is a bad idea, but killing two of my men is a statement I can’t ignore.
“He’ll regret this day,” I tell my men. “When he watches his best friend bleed to death in front of him, and I force him to kill his best friend’s daughter, he’ll regret it. He thinks he’s ready to die now, but he’s wrong, but I’ll get him ready!”
Later, alone, I stare down at the photo of Mike and Emma Wilson.
CHAPTER TWO
EMMA
No way!
I go to the front window when I hear the car pull up. I’ve heard the growl of that engine before. It sounds like Jacob’s pickup truck. I would know that sound anywhere, the purr that always makes my body ache. I haven’t seen him since that crazy closeness at the graduation party.
Even now, the night is too dark. One of our streetlamps is broken, meaning I can only see the vague shape of the vehicle. It could be my man. No, not my man. If I’ve got a man, he wouldn’t have left me covered in his come, on my knees, wondering how he felt. Or if he even felt anything.
Finally, a figure climbs from the car. Despite trying to tame myself, a sensation like a burst of starlight pulses through me. There’s no doubting this feeling, the reminder of the steaminess when I tried to give him what he wanted. I tried to give myself to him completely, but it was all so fast. I kept thinking about the party and Dad catching us. But being naked with my man… Isn’t that what I wanted?
It’s him. It’s Jacob. He walks with his usual angry posture toward the house, his shoulders broad. He doesn’t knock. I hear the click of the door. Creeping to my bedroom door, I push my ear against it, hearing Dad’s voice raised.
“Why are we being so secretive?” Dad asks.
Jacob’s voice comes back gruffer, lower. “It’s best if we don’t tell Emma the truth.”
My heart starts pounding so hard, but that’s nothing new where Jacob is concerned. Whenever I think about him or Dad says his name in passing, my body responds with annoying intensity. It’s been half a year. That steam in the grubby storage room feels like a lifetime ago, but I can’t seem to forget it or let it go. Now he’s back, and the first thing he wants to do is lie to me. About what?