Illicit Obsession (King of Ruin #2) Read Online Julia Sykes

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, BDSM, Dark, Erotic, Mafia Tags Authors: Series: King of Ruin Series by Julia Sykes
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Total pages in book: 42
Estimated words: 38835 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 194(@200wpm)___ 155(@250wpm)___ 129(@300wpm)
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The black silk clung to my sticky skin as I hurried through the empty streets. At this late hour, no one seemed to frequent the wealthy, small neighborhood.

Maybe all of the residents were at that awful club.

I shuddered and shoved the awful memories from my mind before the agony of Massimo’s betrayal could overwhelm me again.

I rounded a corner, and my heart leapt into my throat. Two men in military fatigues strolled down the street, which clearly divided the wealthy neighborhood from the more impoverished part of town. The buildings opposite me were painted in fading pastels and built in crumbling stucco. Behind me, the mansions seemed more garish and incongruous than ever.

The men spotted me and quickened their pace, closing the distance between us in a few long strides. I squared my shoulders and met them halfway, refusing to show weakness or fear. I would get back home, and these men would help me. Calm competence would serve me better than desperate tears.

“I need your help,” I said in Spanish, speaking clearly and firmly. “I’m an American citizen, and I’ve been brought here against my will. I need to contact the authorities so that I can get back home. Can you please take me to your superior officer or someone who can help me do this?”

One of the men blinked, as though he was completely taken aback. I supposed the entire situation was a bit bizarre. I wore an expensive gown and designer heels, but I was wandering around the streets alone at night. And I spoke fluent Spanish despite the obvious American accent I couldn’t quite smooth away, despite all of my practice with the language.

They might’ve been more inclined to immediately assist me if I’d been in obvious distress, but I didn’t dare let my composure waver. Dissolving into hysterics would only dull my focus, and I needed my wits about me if I was going to get away from Massimo.

“Who brought you here?” the one who wasn’t utterly bewildered asked, his eyes roving over me in a way that set my teeth on edge.

“A man who kidnapped me when I was visiting Mexico City,” I replied as evenly as I could. The way he was looking at me made the back of my neck prickle with instinctive warning, but I couldn’t give up now. I’d exposed myself, and I had to see this through.

I didn’t want to tell them about Massimo. They might know about his friendship with Adrián, and there was a good chance that Adrián paid them to look the other way when he did business here.

I focused my attention on the dumbstruck one, sensing less danger from him. He would be more likely to assist me than the one who studied me with predatory interest. “Will you help me? I just want to go home.”

“Come with us,” the dangerous one commanded.

I hesitated, keeping my eyes on the quiet one. “Please?”

He glanced at the other man, then nodded at me. “I’ll take you to speak to our superior officer.”

I huffed out a small, relieved breath, but my senses remained on high alert. I walked between the two men, edging my body slightly closer to the quiet one. He kept his eyes trained ahead, assessing our surroundings like the trained soldier he was. The dangerous one’s gaze kept straying to me. I pretended not to notice. Once I was able to contact the American authorities, no one would dare to touch me.

My feet ached in the designer heels, a ridiculous choice for the hardpacked earth streets as we left the wealthy neighborhood behind. But Massimo hadn’t provided me with anything as mundane as sneakers, and I hadn’t taken the time to change before making my escape. I didn’t have the luxury of time. I’d seen my chance and taken it.

Blisters were beginning to form on my heels by the time we reached an official-looking building constructed of grey concrete blocks. It wasn’t remotely ornate, but it was in far better repair than most of the surrounding buildings. Someone allocated money to keep this place in order. Was it the Colombian military, or Adrián Rodríguez?

I suppressed a shiver and kept my composed mask carefully in place as I stepped inside, flanked by the two men as though they were my personal guards.

Or my jailors.

The urge to turn around and keep the dangerous one in my line of sight was almost overwhelming. I swallowed hard and lifted my chin, striding with purpose as though I knew where I wanted to go.

A broad-shouldered, middle-aged man with a military-short haircut sat behind a massive desk. When we entered the building, he didn’t immediately look up from his paperwork. That signaled to me that he was in charge. Or at the very least, he outranked the men who’d accompanied me here.


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