Total pages in book: 247
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 248926 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1245(@200wpm)___ 996(@250wpm)___ 830(@300wpm)
Slowly, I guided her down the stairs.
Ahead of us, ten other men stood by the door entrances with their guns out, reminding me about the war. David had doubled up security for the day and night shifts.
Mancuso soldiers would soon come, if not by morning, surely by the afternoon. Gun shots would blare. Many would be dead.
But for now, silence filled the hotel, giving me a false sense of peace.
We stepped on the elevator.
Harlem joined us. A whimper left him when the doors closed.
Emily picked him up.
I rolled my eyes.
When would the puppy learn that I was the only spoiled bastard in her life?
Sighing, I put my arm around my mouse and held her close.
She leaned my way and kept Harlem against her bosom.
The elevator lowered. The interior lighting glowed off the smooth walls, lending an ethereal brightness to the descent.
I wanted to lift her in my arms and carry her around, but I knew she wouldn't let me, especially in front of our men. She hoped to appear strong, and I wanted to show her that she didn't have to be.
I could be strong for the both of us.
The elevator stopped on the ground level.
I moved my arm.
Emily put Harlem on the floor of the elevator.
He wagged his tail.
I returned to holding Emily's hand.
The doors opened.
Ten more men waited for us.
When we left the elevator, they separated and made a path.
Harlem rushed out, but never let more than five feet get between us and him.
We continued forward.
The men closed ranks behind us and followed.
Only two weary employees sat at the desk—a man and woman. The man appeared close to dozing off. The woman scribbled something onto the notepad in front of her.
A lamp hovered over them, giving off dim lighting.
Darkness covered the rest of the lobby.
Still, I spotted armed men in the shadows—mine and the Harlem Crew—standing guard.
The space ran silent beside the sound of our footsteps on the polished marble floor and the quiet hum of the lamp.
I guided her forward. “How do you feel?”
“Better. I'm glad that I'm moving. The walking is good.”
“Then, let's go to the beach.”
She squeezed my hand. “That sounds good.”
The glass doors slid open.
A sweet cologne rode the wind.
That's weird. Why does it smell so odd?
Next, I spotted perfumed pansies standing around with their guns to their sides. I counted twenty of them in the front and assumed more were around the sides and in the back.
Emily scanned them. “Jean-Pierre is back?”
“He is, and apparently he's brought us more perfumed pansies.”
Her expression brightened. “Then, Max and Boris are here too?”
“They are.” I cleared my throat and took us on the path leading to the beach. “I should tell you that Max walked in on the situation—”
“Oh, God.”
“It's okay.”
“It's not. I don't want Max constantly cleaning up my messes and dealing with my dark shit. He's been through enough being around me—”
“Maxwell loves you.” I looked at her. “Let him.”
She let out an exasperated breath.
“And I should also tell you that Maxwell and I had a. . .heated conversation about your dark side?”
“You got into a heated conversation? Meaning... you fought?”
“We both got in a few hits, before coming to our senses.”
“Kaz, I don't want you two fighting. And I especially don't want you both hitting each other over me.”
“We are violent men, mysh.”
“That's not an excuse.”
“Violent men deal with stress by hitting each other. No one was truly hurt. Had him or I really wanted to kill each other. . .”
She stopped walking and glared.
“We would have, but we did not. We kept our fighting to a civil level.”
“No more fighting.”
“No more.” I tugged her forward.
We stepped onto the beach.
Emily stopped and slipped her feet out of her slippers.
I followed her lead and took off mine.
Harlem zipped along ahead of us, barking and jumping around like he owned the beach.
Drawing in a long inhale and then exhaling, she took my hand and we headed off.
I hope this relaxes her.
The beach was deserted, yet pulsed with a soothing energy.
Though the salty, night air ran on the colder side, it was a welcome change to our penthouse.
Powder white sand smoothed beneath our feet. It was so soft that we sank down with each step.
We walked in silence, letting the sand make gentle sounds as it slipped through our toes.
The night air was salty on my tongue. The crescent moon sat as a sliver in the dark sky. It's white glow cast a cool light on the ocean.
I studied the shoreline.
Black waves—crested with white froth—rippled out to the rocks, then returned to shore in a slow, rhythmic motion. And it produced the most hypnotic sound and set my nerves at ease.
Some of our men followed several feet behind us. Others ran up ahead and began bordering the beach. All of them had their guns out. A few aimed their guns at bushes and then shook them as if checking for enemies hiding within them.