Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86238 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I’m not that fucking old.” My words are chopped up with laughter. I feel about as old as dirt since my nuts are so weighed down. When you’re forging a war that almost got you killed only years ago, you don’t have time for anything, much less something that takes hours to achieve complete enjoyment from. “I also ain’t paying for shit I can get for free…” My words trail off when a blonde entering the strip club’s main floor area from the far right captures my attention. “You offering to foot the bill? ‘Cause I may have just noticed someone I’m willing to hunt through the cobwebs in my wallet for.”
I haven’t heard Ghost’s true laugh in months. With all the shit he’s wading through, it is a good thing to hear. “Tell Maksim he owes me. You’ll have the pick of the bunch.”
After reminding me to be careful and that we can’t trust a single fucker even if they’re our allies, Ghost ends our call. Even knowing he’s most likely sneaking into Kirill’s mansion as we speak to slip into Katie’s bed a second after the sedative he conceals in her food takes effect, I put steps in place to make sure their protection isn’t slackened by my cock’s inability to look from afar.
Ghost can take care of himself, but considering half of his body is scarred so mine remained scar-free, it makes me occasionally act as if he can’t.
The blonde has piqued my interest. So much so, the money I’m about to waste doesn’t taper my steps in the slightest. I’m not ten anymore. I have money in the bank, food in my stomach, and enough weight on my bones for people to take note when I enter the room.
Even when my target is locked and loaded, they track me as I cross the room, either hopeful I am here for them or praying I’m not.
The women are the former.
The men the latter.
My fuse isn’t as short as Ghost’s, but none of the men in this room know that. As far as they are concerned, I am a ticking bomb. Only I know that saying is more a medical diagnosis than for show.
When I reach Ilya, one of Maksim’s lower-ranked goons, I say, “The blonde. Private room.”
He rolls his pierced bottom lip through his teeth before asking, “Which one? We were inundated with blondes after our latest shipment.”
I know this because the Bobrovs supply them with most of their women. They’re usually the ones we’re not interested in anymore. That was most of the women in the orlop since our focus was elsewhere once we returned to Kronstadt.
“Gold tassels. Daisy dukes. Fuck-me boots.” My words are ground through clenched teeth when I add, “The only one not part of the fucking trade.”
“Uh.” He tries to act unruffled by my low tone. It is a fucking impossible endeavor. I can hear his knees trembling, not to mention smell the fear leaching from his pores. “You’ve got expensive taste, my friend.” He locks his eyes with mine, his lip finally freed from his teeth. “Credit?”
“We’ll see.” I lean in close to make sure he can hear me over the thumping music. “I never buy before I try.”
He looks like he wants to seek assistance from the manager but thinks better of it when he spots my mocking grin. If he shows his hand now, he’s a dead man. A soft cock who can’t take a bit of haggling won’t last a day in this industry. “The private rooms are this way.”
After gesturing for me to follow him, Ilya orders one of the bar staff to alert the blonde that she has a new client. While shadowing him, I keep my head angled like Ghost has his entire life. I’m not hiding my face in shame. It is to keep my identity hidden from the woman about to grind on my crotch for ten minutes and not make a fucking dime for her time.
I won’t lie. Maksim knows his shit. Every private room has a do not disturb sign displayed, and the women roaming the halls, waiting for a vacancy, appear far more innocent than the grunts they’ll elicit from the men acting as if they don’t have a wife at home waiting for them with their standard two point five kids.
“Out,” Ilya demands when we enter a room at the end of a long hallway.
A dude with an ugly shoulder tattoo is getting his dick sucked by a girl hardly of age. He isn’t happy about the interruption. “I paid for twenty minutes.”
“Yet you only needed two.” You can’t miss the spunk stuck on the fake lashes someone suggested she wear to make her look older than she is. “How old are you?”
“I—”
“She’s legal,” Ilya interrupts, pissing me off to no end.