Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
I’ve buried the woman I once wanted to spend my life with.
Lost the son that I should be teaching to play rugby now.
To lose Luxury Whitson is a pain worse than death.
As a duke and a billionaire, I’ve always gotten what I wanted.
She was always meant to be mine.
Mine to own.
Now, all I own are my bloody tears, and I’m not ready to let those fall yet.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
PROLOGUE
Victor
Arlington, England
Blood dries along the jagged scars, tightening the torn flesh across my knuckles. With my fists tightened around the steering wheel, I look to Burt, who’s kept mum in the passenger seat.
Though, he knew it.
Bloody hell, I knew it, too.
My woman hadn’t disappeared in the middle of the night . . . not for a wanker like Lake Russell.
“Victor, I offered to drive.” Burt’s hesitant tone rouses me out of my musing.
I glare through the gloomy window at the Give Way sign. Bloody hell, I’m stalled at the fork in the road, too consumed with yesterday. I damn well swear the woman who birthed me should’ve received my wrath and not Lake Russell.
“Are we commencing a pity party, Victor?”
I nudge my chin to a vehicle off in the distance. Even if I were playing immortal, there would be ample time to cross. “Yes, a bloody pity party is in order. Find me a new organization like X?”
Finally, I veer across the lane and start up the slope, which leads to the home I’ve come to abhor for many reasons.
“I’ll have to decline,” Burt snips.
“Old chap,” I chuckle contritely, “you’re not in the position to decline. It is I who employ you.”
“And we’ve had this conversation multiple times, Victor. You’ve overcompensated me over the years, signifying I’ve the means to leave when I please. Now, I’m not in the mood to enable you. We must call Luxury.”
The wheels scream, sweeping across wet asphalt. Hardly able to repress the destruction unleashed in my soul, I shout, “Is it not apparent to you, Burt the Butler, that she . . . she left! After cock-up after cock-up on my part, the woman I once referred to as Mother ran Luxury off last night!”
“Rubbish,” he mutters. “No, I’ve more to say. Luxury is with chi—”
“I’ve had it with the ‘I’ve a question,’ or ‘I’ve more to say.’ ” I glare at Arlington Manor as it comes into view.
“Very well. I’ll say everything on my mind, starting from the top.”
I come to an abrupt stop in front of my home and climb out of the driver’s seat, slamming the door behind me. The rebuff hasn’t stopped my butler from stomping out of the vehicle to list off his grievances.
“Yes, it’s all gone pear-shaped, Victor. Nevertheless, you’ve become this beastly, infantile, compulsive—”
“Compulsive?” Halfway to the front steps, I spin around to attack him verbally. “I’ve not gone after Lux, have I? Compulsive, my arse! I’m giving her time to deal—after all I’ve done—all the mayhem Princess Mary has initiated.”
As I grit out my mother’s name, her horrible schemes charge the forefront of my mind. As Her Royal Highness swore Madeline and I were engaged, I declared my love for another woman. The entire duchy witnessed the bloody profession—everyone—except the young lady I literally love.
“Luxury,” Burt stammers, “Luxury is—”
The vibration of my cellular from the pocket of my blazer causes Burt to stop speaking. Truth be told, any time he utters my lady’s name, I am seconds away from finding her.
She’s in New York, obviously.
Is she at her friend’s place, or has she returned to the home she shared with her father?
Shite! I’d forgotten all about Dr. Jonah Whitson. Before answering the ringer, I order Burt, “Find Luxury. Update me, please.”
Sight unseen, I answer on the last ring. “‘ello!”
Kaboom!
Suddenly my two-hundred-pound, all muscle frame soars back as the earth shakes.
I hear a constant ringing in my ears as I’m blown back on my arse. Burt lands a few yards away, face bewildered and suit caked with soot. His leg twists at a ghastly angle.
As debris flies around us, my mind is a rush of vivid images of Luxury. My phone, still clutched in my fist, buzzes again. My previous answer must’ve detonated the explosion wreaking havoc before my eyes—one not intended to kill me but to prompt my attention.
I answer with a growl. “Who the fuck is this?”
“Ah, well, hello, Victor Tudor. Have I finally gotten your attention, friend?”
Older male. Possibly seventies.
Farsi . . . no Arabic. “Who the bloody fuck are you, mate?”
“Al Rafi.”
Blooooody . . . Fuck.
My eyes close as my worst nightmare comes to fruition. He cannot have Luxury. There’s no way. She’s in New York.
She is in New—
“Those little fireworks. Did they cool you down from your current search?”
A liquid-like substance, I haven't felt stream down my face in forever, burns my eyes. “Luxury belongs to me!”
“At one time, I would be inclined to agree. But my hands are tingling as I patiently wait for my newest piece of propert—”
“Property?” I snarl. Every obscenity detonates in my head. However, no matter the promises I made to Luxury, the way this morning has transpired, I've molded back into the conniving bloke who handles his shite.
“You see, I thought to myself. I invited this man to my country. Though, I did not know you were a mutual billionaire, as your association with X-Member offered anonymity. Still, I gave you money to complete an assignment,” Al Rafi pauses, “and you helped yourself to what wasn’t yours. My innocent child!”