Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Tonight’s dismemberment, however, had been one of their own.
His hand clenched against Camila’s ass, and she gasped.
He’d known Gerardo since the beginning and never would’ve suspected their trusted accountant of leaking information to another cartel. Valuable information, such as numbers of bank accounts, names of intermediaries, drug transactions, and payoffs to law enforcement officials. The extent of the damage was still unknown.
He hadn’t felt this kind of betrayal since… His chest tightened. The day he’d learned Jhon had set up Camila’s abduction. The sick son of a bitch. Matias shook with the need to kill his brother all over again.
The drone of voices and laughter filtered in from the veranda at the end of the hall. It would be a full room tonight since most of the operators were in town—forty or so lieutenants and hitmen.
Dinner was held every night on the veranda, and while business wasn’t always conducted at this hour, members needed a damn good excuse to miss it.
It’d been over a decade since he’d walked in there with the slightest twitch of unease, but as the dining area came into view, his insides lit with nervous energy. He glanced down at one of the reasons.
Silken black hair, soulful eyes, and a body that wickedly sinuated the lines of her corset. Camila was the only woman he’d ever loved, and he knew—somewhere beneath her campaign to save the free world—she could love him. Him, not the ghost of the boy he’d been.
But he needed her to hang on to her hatred for just a little while longer.
Gripping her arm, he pushed her back against the wall of the empty corridor. She stiffened then launched into a muscle-tensing, kicking, shoving struggle. He wrenched her hands behind her and pressed his weight against her chest.
Anyone who passed by would simply see him enjoying his new slave before dinner.
He touched his mouth to her ear and kept his voice at a whisper. “I won’t tell you to trust me. You’re not there yet. But I want you to listen.”
Her jaw tensed against his. Then she relaxed in his hold.
“Nico knows our history, as do the small few in the inner circle.”
“Who’s in the inner—?”
“Everyone at my table.” He leaned back and watched her eyes dilate as she absorbed the information. Stifling the overwhelming urge to kiss her, he returned his lips to her ear. “The rest of that room is on a need to know, and they need to know you’re just the slave of the month. A fresh hole to fuck. You mean nothing to me.”
He released her and stepped back.
“I fucking despise you.” Vicious honesty snarled through her voice and hardened her eyes.
He inwardly winced and smoothed his tone to hide the hurt. “Perfect.”
Setting off toward the veranda, he didn’t look back.
The cartel had never had a turncoat among their upper ranks, and that was the other reason his stomach was knotted all to hell. No matter how many body parts he’d severed from Gerardo, the only thing the snake confessed was that he hadn’t been working alone.
There was another mole on the property, and it could be anyone. A maid, an armed guard, a hired whore, or one of the members sitting out there on the veranda. His opponents were many, but this was a rival cartel, gunning to take them out and steal their business.
Where Nico was the face and the name of the organization, Matias was the spine. Their enemies didn’t know this, but a spy among their ranks would know where to hit and how deep to cut. If they realized what Camila meant to him, they would start with her.
Hence the barbaric markings on her legs, the slutty attire, and the hatred in her eyes. They would see an abused slave, a piece of property, and not a cherished pet he would trade all the secrets in the world to keep safe.
A hush fell over the dining room as he stepped onto the veranda. Eyes lifted, beer bottles froze at mouths, forks settled against plates, and heads lowered. Respect. After twelve violent years, he’d fucking earned it.
He gave a general nod to the congregation of men, and they resumed drinking and conversing.
Ten round tables of six filled the spacious, roofed balcony. Of the sixty seats, only a few were empty. Two or three girls knelt on the floor around each grouping, but some members had wives and mistresses who sat in chairs beside them. There were also a few non-members like Yessica, the resident madam, who’d secured a seat at a table.
As he passed Yessica’s chair, she reached out and brushed a hand against his cock, her lips puckering in an air-kiss.
He couldn’t hear Camila’s footfalls behind him, but the sharp exhalation at his back sounded as if she were choking on smoke and ash.