Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144908 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 725(@200wpm)___ 580(@250wpm)___ 483(@300wpm)
“You suicidal?”
Master sighed and turned his head to look at his Torpedo Ink brother. He’d known Absinthe since they were practically toddlers. They’d gone through hell together and survived. Absinthe was one of the best of them, whether the man knew it or not. He was genuine in his concern. It was the only reason Master didn’t slam his fist into his face, and the hell with what happened after that, because he didn’t give a damn if they crashed right there on the freeway.
“Probably.” He thought about it. “Yeah. Mostly, I want to kill someone. I need to fuck someone hard. And then I want to kill someone. I’m a little psycho. So, suicidal, need to fuck, and psycho. The usual.”
Absinthe drove in silence, easing the car smoothly through traffic, the speed always steady as they headed toward San Francisco and the underground club where Master could take care of his immediate need.
“That bad.” It was a statement.
“I’m not going back, Absinthe. Not for anyone.” Master made his own statement.
“I’ll talk to Czar.”
“You already talked to him. It didn’t do any good. The only way I’m going to ensure I don’t go back is to walk away.” He kept his voice low. He always did. He’d learned it was better to speak softly or not at all. “Sooner or later, he’ll need something. It will be important enough in his mind that he’ll decide I have to go back.”
“I’ll make it clear if we need someone to go in, Destroyer will have to go.”
Master shook his head. “That would be worse than asking me, Absinthe, and you know it. He can’t ever go back without killing someone. He may be quiet, but he’s ruthless. You ought to know that. He spent years in prison. I went in and out, and I barely can make it through. You can’t keep asking a man to relive his worst nightmares over and over without consequences.”
The moment the words were out of his mouth, he realized he’d said too much. Absinthe was very good at manipulating others into telling him what he wanted to know. Master had never actually come out and told anyone what it was like for him going back to prison again and again.
Absinthe continued to drive in his smooth, easy way, eyes on the highway with the lanes filled with cars, making his way to San Francisco without further protest. They were close to the club, and the adrenaline and hot blood were mixing, already pulsing through his body, a dark streaming ribbon of venomous heat that couldn’t be denied.
“You should have told me what happens when you go there, Master,” Absinthe said.
Master frowned at the quiet guilt in his tone. “Don’t do that. Don’t try to take responsibility for something you have no control over. What happened to me, happened to everyone, just in different ways. You couldn’t have stopped it then, and you can’t now. Czar decides he needs something, getting in and out of jail or prison for someone like me makes sense to him, and he sends me.”
“Someone like you?” Absinthe echoed. “What does that mean?”
“Don’t be obtuse. If he thought I was worth shit, he would have had Code set me up clean, given me a start I might actually succeed with here, but he didn’t. He made sure I had a record no decent woman would ever tolerate. If I found someone and we had kids, I couldn’t do half the things with them at school because of my record. You tell me how that equates to a fresh start for me, Absinthe.”
Absinthe took the exit that would take them to the club. It wasn’t far, and he was silent until they were in the parking lot. “You’ve got this wrong, Master. No one is left behind. We stick together; that’s how we made it through. Every single one of us is invaluable to the others.”
Master stepped out of the car, taking another lungful of freedom—of that fresh air he could never find in prison, not even outside in the yard. Absinthe locked the car and fell into step with him as they approached the archway to the De Sade.
“I’m invoking the confessional, Absinthe. This conversation is strictly between us. There’s no need to take it to anyone else.” There was satisfaction in being able to turn the tables on Absinthe.
“No way. You’re tying my hands. I can get to the bottom of this, Master.”
“The confessional,” Master reiterated and opened the door to the De Sade.
TWO
“Are you coming for a drink with us, Ambrie?” Amanda Gibbs stuck her head into her boss’s office. “It’s Daniel’s birthday tomorrow. We’re celebrating, remember? The poor man puts up with the two of us all day. The least we can do is celebrate his birthday.”
Ambrielle Moore looked up from the flow of numbers moving on her computer screen, blinking to bring her assistant into focus. “Is it that time already?”