Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94829 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Fuck, I’m having dirty daydreams about my wife.
This is a nightmare.
I bang on the door, forcing myself to calm down. My dick’s half hard, but there’s no helping that. I bang two more times since there’s no answer.
“I’m coming in,” I call out, unlocking the handle with my master key. “If there’s anything you don’t want me to see—”
I step into her living area and stop dead.
The place is a wreck.
All the paintings were torn down and thrown in a heap. Half the drawers were ripped out of the cabinets. Books, photographs, and little decorative statues fill the fireplace. Broken plates cover the floor.
“What the fuck?” I murmur, stepping over a shattered vase.
Dasha’s nowhere in sight. The couch’s pillows were tossed in the corner. I have no idea what happened in here, but clearly, something bad.
My heart rate doubles.
Could someone have gotten to her? Vito says everything’s quiet, but it looks like someone broke in and flipped the place.
I hurry to the windows to make sure they’re still sound. No sign of forced entry. Each is solidly locked in place.
There’s noise in the hallway. I pull my gun, whirling around, a snarl on my lips. If some motherfucker touched my wife—
Dasha stares at me from under sleepy eyes.
For a moment, all I can see is Natalia. My second cousin, but everyone’s a cousin in the Brotherhood. That fierce, dark-haired Armenian viper. My best friend in the whole world and the aching space between heartbeats.
She taught me how to climb a tree, how to pick a lock, but to apply pressure at just the right spot to break a bigger man’s wrist. Fierce and unrelenting and the only person that ever really understood me.
Gone now.
Except it’s Dasha in front of me. My small, blonde, beautiful Russian wife. The opposite of Natalia, but also not, except I catch flashes of that same unrelenting passion, only suppressed and waiting to be unleashed.
Neither of us moves. She’s wearing a big shirt that drapes down to mid-thigh like it’s a minidress. Her nipples are stiff, and she’s not wearing a bra. Her hair’s messy, and the way she’s rubbing one eye makes it clear I just woke her up from a nap.
“Are you about to shoot me?” she asks blearily. “Just make it fast, please.”
I quickly lower my weapon, trying not to smile. That fucking sharp tongue. I could suck it straight from her fucking face. “What the hell happened in here?”
“Nothing happened.” She raises her chin, jaw set. Somehow, she makes herself look three inches taller, even though she’s just a little thing.
It’s that rod down her spine. Probably stuck up her ass too.
I kick at a framed painting of the harbor. “I thought someone broke in and kidnapped you. I was about to make some calls.”
And about to murder a whole lot of people.
“I’m still here, unfortunately.” She crosses her arms over her chest like she’s suddenly aware that I’ve been sneaking glances at her breasts. My wife looks fucking fantastic, and I’m just a man after all. Can’t help myself.
“Did you do all this then?”
She hesitates but then nods. “I didn’t like the decorations, and since it’s my room—”
“You went apeshit on the fucking place.”
Her jaw works. “I wouldn’t put it like that.”
“Hard to say it any other way.”
“You don’t need to be vulgar about everything, you know.”
My eyebrows raise, and I let my gaze drift to the naked skin on her legs, then back up to her lips. “Says the girl who looks downright fuckable right now.”
Her cheeks turn pink, which was the desired reaction. “I was napping, you—” She takes a breath to compose herself. I swear, she was about to rip into me, but instead she seems to shrink slightly. “If you need me to clean it up, I will.”
The fuck? Two seconds ago, she was going to kick me in the nuts for eye-fucking her into submission.
Now she’s acting like an obedient little bride.
The passion smothered again.
But it’s still there, lurking, waiting, and if I apply just the right pressure…
I might make her explode.
And by all that’s fucking sinful and unholy, I want her to shatter all over me.
“Decorate the place however you want,” I say, tearing my gaze from her eyes. I shove my gun back into my belt and step over some ruined pottery. “Tell Vito what you need, and he’ll make sure you have the budget.”
“Wait, what? Budget?”
“You’re going to need money. You know, to buy new stuff?” I gesture all around. “Unless you want to live like this?”
“No, I just—” She shrinks back slightly. “I thought you’d be angry.”
I stare at her. I’m not remotely surprised. I come off like a piece of shit because the majority of the time, that’s what I am. A killer, a beast, a monster.
For most people in my life, I’ve got just about zero patience.