Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 168(@200wpm)___ 134(@250wpm)___ 112(@300wpm)
“Stop.” I swipe the tear from her cheek. “You think begging has ever changed my mind about anything?”
She drops her gaze. “No,” she says softly.
What I said is true–plenty of men have begged me for their lives. It’s never worked. I do what I have to do for my family. We’re at the top because of me, though my father would never admit it. I’m the reason this little princess is in our grasp, the reason the Fernandinos’ days are numbered, the reason this city is littered with the bodies of anyone and everyone who’s tried to challenge us. Their begging fell on deaf ears. But hers …
The elevator jolts to a stop. Another tear rolls down her cheek, and her trembling is even more pronounced.
I groan with frustration. At myself, mostly, because I can’t seem to get a fucking grip. “Listen, I’m not going to kill you. So quit asking. And I’m not taking you to my father … yet.”
She looks up as I swipe her cheek again. “Yet?”
“Let’s go.” I pull open the elevator door and flick on the lights. The main room brightens, the blinds on the high windows sliding open and letting the afternoon sun pour in.
“Where are we?”
“My place.” I spin on my heel and glower down at her. “You aren’t getting out of here, princess, so don’t try it. If you run, I’ll catch you, and you won’t like what happens after that.”
She puts a hand to her chest, her fingers gripping my shirt. Her jaw clenches in that way of hers, and I wonder if she’s biting her tongue or grating her teeth. “I won’t run,” she says quietly.
I stride into the living area and then through to my bedroom, pulling my phone out as I go. My younger brother Sal has been texting me nonstop for at least ten minutes. The little prick.
Sal: Where is she? Where the fuck are you? Dad’s waiting.
I grab a shirt from my closet and pull it on. The princess is still wearing mine. And, fuck, she looks good in it. Not as good as she looked completely bare, but still a goddamn wet dream. I knew she’d be pretty. I’d heard as much from our spies in the Fernandino family. But I didn’t expect her, not the way she looks at me with her big blue eyes or the way she shivers at my touch. Fuck!
Sal: WHERE ARE YOU?
Me: There was a complication. At safehouse. Call later.
Sal: The fuck? What complication?
I silence the phone and toss it onto the dresser. Once again, I ask myself what the fuck I’m doing. There’s a reason I haven’t told anyone about this place–because it’s mine. I haven’t even had Sal over. It’s something that can finally belong only to me. Not a part of the family business, not an asset my father can gloat over, not a place where the boys can come and kick back with their whores and drugs. Just. Mine. Except now I’ve gone and fucked that all to hell by bringing her here.
“Hi,” she says, her voice carrying to me.
I roll my eyes and stomp out into the living area. She’s kneeling down beside the couch, a shaft of sunlight on her hair, making it shine like dark, polished wood.
“What’s your name?” she coos.
I walk up behind her. Her shoulders tense when my shadow falls over her, but she doesn’t turn around.
“Trash.” I glare at the scrappy black cat I found slinking around the warehouse a couple of weeks ago, digging in the dumpster out by the fence.
“What?” She turns and looks at me over her shoulder.
“That’s his name. Trash.”
Her mouth drops open. “That’s terrible.”
Trash prances in front of her, demanding her attention, his tail straight up.
“You’re so handsome. Surely we can think of a better name for you.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “I already told you his name. It’s Trash.”
She pats his head, then stands, but she’s so short that she still has to crane her head back to meet my eyes. They’re softer now–the fear subsiding just enough for the real her to shine through again. “What are you going to do with me?”
Straightforward.
Usually, I’d have an easy answer. Something like ‘torture you, then shoot you, then dump you in the ocean’ or ‘cut off two fingers as a lesson not to fuck with the Talettis,’ but for her, I have no goddamn clue.
Her tongue darts out to wet her lips. I watch the motion, and something inside me goes haywire at the sensuality of it, at the way I instantly imagine her tongue doing that to me. What would it feel like? Her mouth on mine? Her tongue sliding along my skin?
She snaps her fingers. “Hello? I asked you a question.”
There’s the mouthy princess I knew I’d find. The one who doesn’t know her place. I step over to her, crowding her so closely that her breasts press against me. To her credit, she doesn’t step back, her chin rising in defiance.