Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82439 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 412(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“Open wide,” he says, and I do.
I suck him clean like he did at the club. I keep sucking his fingers, deeper into my mouth as he watches, his blue eyes never leaving mine.
“You’re so beautiful when you suck on me. I can’t wait to watch you take my dick in this hot mouth of yours.”
I nod, letting him know I will.
I’m realizing I’m his slut, willing to do whatever he asks. Ready to beg. Ready to do anything for him.
And I don’t know if it’s a good thing, or a very, very bad thing.
The pulsating lights of the club nearly blind me as I step inside the following Tuesday, the strobe casting flashes of neon across the crowded room. The bass-heavy music rattles my bones, the beat thrumming through the soles of my shoes as I settle into my usual station. My wig is securely in place, the raven-black strands falling perfectly in line, and my body moves automatically through the familiar motions of the night. But everything in me goes on high alert the moment I spot the Delgados slipping through the entrance.
They glide in with their usual air of untouchable wealth and power, the kind that makes people shrink back in their presence. My heart picks up speed, knowing what their arrival could mean. Tonight, Benedict’s plan is looser—he’s playing it by ear, keeping his distance unless Lazarus personally invites him into the room. He won’t push, won’t assume he’s earned a seat at the table yet.
I scan the room and spot him standing by the staircase, his tall figure leaning against the railing like he belongs there. His eyes darken, scanning the crowd with the sharpness of a predator, always watching, always waiting. I cross the club's tiled floor, weaving between bodies, the sticky scent of alcohol and perfume thick in the air. When I reach him, I place a hand on his arm, my voice low as I lean in.
"What are you thinking?" I ask, my eyes darting around the room for any sign of Lazarus or his crew.
Benedict’s jaw clenches, his gaze still focused on the crowd. “Hopefully we can learn something about Gregory tonight. See if they did in fact kill him.” His voice is steady, but there’s an underlying tension there, a silent hope that tonight will bring answers.
A shiver runs down my spine at the mention of Gregory Saunders—the accountant whose name has haunted us both since the news of his death broke. The idea that the Delgados might be responsible gnaws at me, but before I can reply, something else catches my eye. My blood turns to ice as I spot a familiar figure strolling into the club, right beside Lazarus, like he’s a part of their world.
“Oh my god,” I whisper, my voice barely audible over the pounding music.
Benedict turns toward me, his sharp eyes narrowing in concern. “What is it?”
My throat tightens, and I can hardly believe what I’m seeing. The man walking with Lazarus, laughing and shaking hands like he belongs there.
“Christopher,” I breathe, my chest tightening as my ex-husband steps deeper into the club, his presence a tidal wave that threatens to drown me in memories I thought I’d buried.
“That’s him?” Benedict’s voice cuts through the chaos around us, sharp and controlled.
I nod, but my mind is spinning, my thoughts a mess of panic and disbelief. What are the odds? Out of all the places, all the nights, he had to show up here. There’s no way I can work the Delgado party now—not with Christopher in the same room. He’ll recognize me, no matter how much I’ve put into my disguise.
“I should get out of here,” I mutter, my voice shaky as the reality of the situation sinks in.
“Upstairs. The surveillance room. Now,” Benedict commands, his tone leaving no room for argument. There’s an urgency in his voice that matches the pounding in my chest, his body tense beside me.
I turn to leave, but it’s already too late. Christopher’s eyes lock onto mine from across the club, a brief moment of recognition flickering in his gaze. My heart stutters in my chest as time seems to freeze around us, the flashing lights and the pulsing music fading into the background. I can’t tell if he truly recognizes me or if it’s just a fleeting look, a trick of the low lighting. But I don’t give him the chance to figure it out.
Panic surges through me, and without a second thought, I bolt.
I fly up the staircase, taking the steps two at a time, my legs burning with the effort. The noise of the club fades behind me as I ascend, my focus narrowing to the door ahead—the door that leads to the surveillance room where I’ll be safe, hidden, out of Christopher’s line of sight.
I burst through the door, the cold air inside hitting me like a wave as I lean against the wall, my chest heaving with exertion. The surveillance room is quiet, the hum of electronics the only sound as I try to catch my breath. Safe. For now. But the lingering fear stays with me. What if he knows? What if he comes looking for me?