Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
We didn’t fuck last night. My hands dedicated themselves to Luxury’s body. I’m not a man who admits my faults, but I bloody manipulated her because I can’t visualize another way.
She’ll leave if my past unravels before her.
I’m obsessed with the thought of molding her, extracting the weaknesses.
Strengthening the small granules of fearlessness I saw in Luxury the second we met—her ability to survive after the world crumbles around her.
At first light, I leave a note on the bed and earmuffs on the inside doorknob of our bedroom.
In the shooting range, I press a button. The wall retracts, revealing a greater radius. I prepare my sniper rifle, glimpsing through the scope over two kilometers away where Burt’s riding a Range Rover over the lush green terrain.
“You’re up early,” I speak through the Bluetooth in my ear.
“Not a gloomy day, eh? I suspected you’d crave the challenge.”
“Not a bloody challenge,” I huff, my gander tracking the general direction of where Burt just drove from. My eyes slide over the bark of a stand of oak trees.
“Fucking cucumber,” I scoff under my breath. “I’ve to shoot a fucking cucumber tacked to a tree?”
“Aye.”
“Phallic symbol, really?”
“Yup.”
“Burt, you’re bloody wrong on all sorts of levels.”
“No worse than a certain someone who deceived his lady, I’ll say. Have you assessed the dynamics of said cucumber?”
Head cocked ever so slightly, I calculate the measurements, just as I would if the vegetable were flesh and blood.
My next mark.
“Three inch . . . Alright, have your laugh, Burt the Butler, you will endure jeans and a bloody polo for the remainder of your tenure.”
“Gladly, if it will ensure Miss Whitson never suffers heartache at your hands again.”
* * *
An hour later, I’ve pressed the button, closing the partition that extends the shooting range to prepare for Luxury’s arrival. The titanium doors whisk closed, revealing a standard target area.
I place a 9mm, a bloody pink gun, onto the stainless-steel ledge with a full magazine. At the sound of soft footsteps, elation tips the side of my mouth. I turn around as Luxury takes a tentative step inside.
Black spandex touches everywhere I’ve licked and thrusted. She places a hand on her hip. “What in the world?”
“Where’s your ear protection?”
“Feels like I’m on the set of a secret spy film.”
“Where are your earmuffs?”
She lifts a shoulder.
“Luxury,” I hiss, pushing open the drawer to grab another. “Come.”
She saunters a few paces in front of me.
“Have you eaten?” I ask, placing the padded earphones over her head and pulling a cute coil, which bounces back when I release it.
“Yes.”
I press my lips to her forehead. Welcome to my world, Little One.
“Don’t kiss me like that, Victor.”
“Make me stop.” I grip the gun and place my hand at her slender belly, pressing myself behind her. Luxury doesn’t open her hands to take the gun.
I thrust my cock against her lower back.
A shoulder jerks; her hands lift. The gun nestles in her palms.
My atoning mouth drops onto her shoulder. I lift the side of her earphones to say, “You're ready.”
Just as I’m readjusting my headphones, Luxury puts the gun down, removes the headphones, and spins around.
“A decent meal doesn’t imply that I’m ready for a firefight. Vic, stop with the look. You gotta be kidding me.”
I clasp her face in my hands, mouth twisted into a snarl. “You chose to pick up a gun to provide the allusion of safety for yourself. You went after Dr. Charles Everhart, all on your own, Little One.” When I finish with you, you’ll only need me for sex and companionship.
Luxury gasps. “Don’t worry about me taking your gun ever again.”
“I have no such worries.”
“Good.”
“This one is yours. His and hers 9mms.” A slight glimmer of happiness sparks in my eyes. It’s overshadowed by the shock in hers.
“Vic, I . . . wasn’t going to shoot Uncle Red. Or maybe in the frame of mind I had been, maybe I would have. But now, I’m certain that I wouldn’t have.”
“Are you aware of what happens to people who bear arms yet lack the skills for proper usage?”
“I don’t need to know.” Her eyes flicker to the gun.
“One. They are lucky. You were bloody lucky! Or two, someone tests their capabilities.”
I press a button on the wall, and the target slowly comes toward us. Luxury starts away, but my hand claims the back of her neck. “Stay.”
Satisfied with her compliance, I let go, grabbing the poster.
She gawks at the precise headshots in the target paper.
“Not even a zombie can come back after that,” Luxury jokes as I reach under the counter for another target. “Hey, let's make this fun. Do you at least have any interesting targets?”
“This will not be fun.”
“No fun?” She groans.
Ignoring her is second nature as a silhouette free of any bullets zips backward.
Thirty yards precisely.
I again step behind Luxury. My lips graze her earlobe, and I order, “Take this seriously.”