Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52851 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
No, no fucking way.
Before I could react, Kyle stepped in, closing the distance between them like she was walking into a lover’s embrace, and kissed his cheek.
“Daisy,” she purred, her voice low, sultry—the same tone I was used to hearing in the bedroom.
My fists clenched involuntarily. Any other time, that sound would have me pushing her against a wall, but right now, hearing her use it on him had a red haze creeping into my vision.
Cristóbal’s eyes stayed glued to her chest.
What was it with motherfuckers tonight?
“Daisy…” he repeated slowly, rolling the name over his tongue like he was tasting it. “The pleasure is mine.”
He lifted her hand, as if to kiss it like he was some kind of refined gentleman, but before his lips could touch her skin, a loud commotion broke out behind us. Two men stood nose to nose in the far corner, their bodies rigid with tension. One was Hispanic, the other Middle Eastern, both of them draped in gold jewelry like it was supposed to make them important.
Cristóbal chuckled, the sound light, dismissive. “Ah, they are always so hot-headed and eager,” he mused. Then he turned back to us, eyes flicking to Kyle again. “If you’ll excuse me,” his lips curled in something that wasn’t quite a smile. His gaze slid over Kyle one last time, “Daisy.”
I didn’t move until he was a few steps away, then I reached for Kyle, wrapping my arm around her waist and pulling her into me, shielding her from the eyes that had lingered too long. Her body stayed relaxed, unconcerned, like she hadn’t just been inspected like a piece of meat at a butcher shop.
I bent my head to her ear.
“What the fuck was that?” I growled lowly, reaching for the glass of champagne we hadn’t touched earlier. I wasn’t planning to drink it, I wouldn’t trust anything in this place, but appearances mattered so I was going to hold it.
Kyle’s response came with a teasing smile as she lifted her own glass. “I was part of the bust.” She sipped delicately, as if we weren’t having this conversation at all. “If I’d hesitated, it would’ve looked suspicious.” Her eyes flicked toward mine. “I’m here to play a part, Jagger, and that’s what I’m doing.”
My grip tightened around the glass, but I kept my face unreadable.
Duke had drilled the plan into us. Get in, get photos of as many of these fuckers as possible, and get out. To blend in, I was playing the role of a buyer, and Kyle was my arm candy—my ‘flavor of the night.’
I glanced around the room. Most of the women here were dressed like Kyle—tight dresses, killer heels, makeup applied like war paint. But some weren’t as lucky. Some were in nothing but lingerie, collars fastened around their necks, chains leading them like fucking dogs.
One of the men from the earlier fight—the Middle Eastern one—sat now with two women kneeling behind him, their heads bowed to the ground. Their backs were lined with fresh, raw stripes, the skin welted and broken.
A slow, boiling rage built in my gut, and I forced myself to look away.
I had a job to do.
Kyle must’ve noticed the tension in my shoulders because she leaned in. “Do you think he recognized me?” she murmured.
I studied her, the way she kept her expression light, unreadable, then I looked back toward where Cristóbal had disappeared. “I don’t know.”
Her small shrug did nothing to ease my worry.
For the next hour, we worked the room, meeting people, exchanging pleasantries, forcing conversation with the worst kind of filth. They spoke freely, too freely, as if they believed they were untouchable. They bragged about their operations, their money, their influence. I hoped like hell Duke and the others were getting this, because I didn’t know if I could do this again.
Then, finally, after what felt like ten hours, Kyle gave the signal that we could leave. I exhaled slowly, preparing to get the hell out of this place, but before we could take a step, Cristóbal reappeared, this time with the Middle Eastern man from earlier.
“Ah, Aaron and Daisy,” Cristóbal greeted, that false charm sliding easily back into place. “This is Arshad Fathizadeh. Arshad, this is Aaron Jones and Daisy…” He paused, a smirk playing at his lips. “I don’t believe I got your last name, sweet Daisy.”
Something about the way he said it, the way his gaze lingered, sent every alarm bell ringing.
Kyle didn’t miss a beat. “Trent,” she answered smoothly, extending a hand toward Fathizadeh. “Mr. Fathizadeh.” Her voice was softer now, breathy, almost purring.
Cristóbal’s eyes didn’t leave her, and I forced myself to stay still as the bastard reached out and tucked a strand of hair over her shoulder. The moment his fingers brushed her skin, my entire body tensed. He must’ve noticed, because his eyes flicked to me, amusement dancing in them.