Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
I just need a mask. That’s easy enough.
Matvei sends another video.
Matvei
This shit’s gone viral
Semyon
Is this a bad joke?
Rafail
What the fuck is this?
Matvei:
You guys need to listen up. There are MAFIA THIRST TRAPS. They want us. Like, really want us.
Rafail, you’re not keeping him busy enough.
But just for the fuck of it, I click the link.
And I watch. A gorgeous blonde with wide blue eyes and thick lashes licks her lips while the right side of her screen shows a masked man with tats and muscles.
I roll my eyes. He’s fucking scrawny compared to my brothers, and did she really think those pecs were real? Nah. I can tell from here he used a filter like a goddamn fucking pussy.
I almost shut the thing and get another drink when she starts fanning herself with her phone—no, it wasn’t a phone, it’s much too big for a phone. I look closer. Is that an e-reader?
That’s when I notice the wall of books behind her, like some sort of fucking shrine to a bookstore, but it isn’t just any bookshelf. They’re color-coordinated in a rainbow, twinkling pink lights entangled with greenery, making it look festive.
“This is all I want, girls,” she says, wiping a fat tear from her cheek. “I work sixty-hour weeks at a thankless job, and when I come home? I want this guy waiting for me.” She lowers her voice. “Is that too much to ask?”
Huh.
I scroll.
And I scroll.
And I scroll.
I feel my lips curve into a smirk, the kind that typically makes my enemies rethink their decisions.
They want… us?
They don’t. No, they really, really don’t.
They think they want us—the barbed-wire promises, the wolves lurking just beyond the storybook light. But what they want is the illusion of us, not the raw, vicious truth. No woman wants my calloused, bloodstained hand in her hair—or, more accurately, wrapped around her throat, pinning her to my headboard, or—heh. Maybe that was a good drink.
I tap my finger against my jaw. I still have a job to do before I go back home, but January in Moscow is frigid as fuck, and if I’m honest, I might not want to move here, but this weather feels downright balmy. And it’s nice not having to put up with the daily discerning eye and constant criticism of my eldest brother.
I look back over at the giggling party girls. They’re glued to their screens, their expressions dreamy as they giggle over obviously fake videos with posers— men wearing masks from a goddamn party store, their weapons a sham. It’s like some sort of cosplay gone bad.
I can’t help but snort when a few of the videos have three men, ropes in hand, masks hiding fuck knows what, with a low growl of a man’s voice. “We’re coming for you. And when we find you, beware…”
It's so damn fake.
Obviously, a real man didn’t fucking share. This is the stupidest shit I ever—
My hand hovers over the x at the top of the page, ready to shut it down, when I see… her.
Fiery red hair tied back in a thick ponytail, a mischievous spark in her jade-green eyes.
She’s so different from the other videos I’ve seen, so authentic. Unlike the fake thirst traps or heavily edited videos, she looks candid and excited, as if she can’t wait to talk about her latest book.
She looks… real. Strong. And even though she’s wearing a plain white top and a pair of jeans, the girl fills them out. She has the body of a gymnast, tightly wound and powerful. My breath slows as I take her in—sparkling green eyes, a strength in her every movement that makes my fingers itch to touch her, to feel if she’s as real as she looks.
“Girls,” she says, shaking her head.
Girls? Was she completely unaware of the absolute magnetic pull a woman like her had on a man like me?
I’m instantly, irrationally filled with rage toward any other man who sets eyes on her. She’s unlike anyone I’ve ever seen before.
“Stop what you’re doing right now and read this book.” She holds up a black and gold book with raised lettering, the edges sprayed gold, as she flips through it. “You’ve never heard of it before. No one has. It’s unlike anything I’ve ever read before. And this book.” She shakes her head and bites her lip.
That single motion—her teeth grazing her lip—ignites something primal. It’s the smallest tell. I’ve honed my observation skills, and I know how to read body language. It’s part of my job description, and partly why I can so easily spot lies. She really does want what she’s reading about.
This girl wants to surrender, even if she doesn’t know it yet. I’d make damn sure she learned what that meant.
I swallow hard and watch.
She lowers her voice to a whisper. I hold my breath, mesmerized by her voice, the way she talks, even the way her fingers grip around the book in her hand. I imagine what it would be like to have those hands splayed over my body or pinned in one hand while I fisted her gorgeous hair in the other. I’d fuck her right against that bookshelf until she screamed for mercy… until she knew the difference between fiction and reality and never again fell for a goddamn book boyfriend when she belonged to me.