Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27300 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 137(@200wpm)___ 109(@250wpm)___ 91(@300wpm)
Of course, that doesn’t mean my brother and I retired. After twenty years of wheeling and dealing, the machine doesn’t just turn off. Instead, we’ve branched out. We founded Club Duality a couple years ago, which is a private club for the billionaire class. Yes, our membership is mostly male; it’s just the way this shit works. We provide food, drink, and entertainment, all in the hushed exclusivity of the Duality compound. Not only is everything discreet and under wraps, but we skirt the edges of the law too. There are debauched parties featuring beautiful young things that are auctioned to our male members. Quite a few of the girls are true quality specimens, and our members pay through the nose for their beauty and innocence, but also for the opportunity to teach. After all, what’s better than being with a young woman who’s tasting her first dick and loving it? Yeah, we’re a bunch of fucked-up assholes, and there’s no one and no way to stop us.
But the scene gets tiresome after a while. The men are jaded, and the women too. Not only that, but it’s tough to find a virgin in Vegas these days. The girls are hardened and sun-baked before they turn eighteen, and my brother and I aren’t willing to go any younger. It’s too fucked up, even if it doesn’t technically flout the law. After all, the age of consent in Nevada is sixteen, and not only that, but prostitution is legal in certain areas, under very specific conditions. My attorneys know the ins and outs, and I’m certain Club Duality plays within the lines ... even if it’s by a hair’s breadth.
But now, I’m here to get away while also overseeing the build of my new mansion. I wipe the sweat from my brow before lifting my axe again. The temps in this area are generally cool mornings and evenings, but mid-afternoon can be hot and today is no exception. With a grunt, I position another block of wood on the stand, and then swing my axe down with a satisfying thunk.
Then I pause. Was there a gasp coming from the woods? But from what? I’m miles away from civilization and there are no roads here. There are a few paths for intrepid hikers, but even those give wide berth to this particular location. After all, I chose this location for its lack of access. The only way to get here is to cut through the underbrush, and I can’t see anyone doing that of their own free will.
Shaking my head, I get on with my work. My muscles are now broiling in the hot sun, and with quick fingers, I undo my shirt so that I can work without the fabric clinging to my skin. Then I raise the axe again and thwack it down as my biceps strain.
The gasp comes again. I know it wasn’t my imagination and my eyes narrow a bit as I try to determine its location. I don’t want to give myself away, so my gaze remains fixed on the stump as I heft the axe once more.
Thwack!
This time, the gasp is very audible to my left, and my guess is that my mystery stalker has crept closer. Why are they hiding? Is it because they know they’re trespassing? Fuck, I hate people who barge in when they shouldn’t. I’m a beast who values his privacy, and some fucker better not be staking out my property.
As a result, a plan forms in my mind. My blue eyes squint as I survey the stump again. Kindling surrounds it on both sides, and I’ve made a fucking mess. But I position another log on the stump, and make as if to raise my axe. I even loft it above my head, like I’m about to strike, but instead of the metal tool coming down with another resounding thwack, I twist at the last moment and hurl it at my stalker.
Phhhssst!
The axe flies through the air, a fifteen pound weapon of untold destruction. The blade is keen and sharp, and the handle is made of solid oak. The axe somersaults into the woods, glinting in the sunlight, only to land with a resounding crack in a nearby tree. Meanwhile, there’s the scramble of small feet, as well as the tell-tale shiver of brush. Fuck, the intruder’s on the run. He’s looking to get away now that it’s clear he’s been outed.
But it’s too late. My massive form springs into motion, and within seconds, I’ve dived into the bushes and grabbed hold of the nosy motherfucker. But instead of dragging a homeless person out, or some hermit who lives on the slopes, I emerge with a young woman screaming and struggling in my grip. She’s curvy and gorgeous, albeit fighting like a wildcat like at the moment.