Total pages in book: 112
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 532(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Motherfucker,” I hiss under my breath as I try to focus my mind. I aim again, breathing in and out slowly. Everything becomes still, and I’m completely and utterly in control again.
Bang! Bang! Bang! Bang! Four shots go off for the four targets. Three are perfect bullseyes. The last one is slightly off-center. “Fuck,” I curse, removing my ear protection. This is frustrating beyond measure.
“Inappropriate thoughts hindering your aim, Kitten?”
I spin around at the voice, and a wave of fury washes over me. “What are you doing here?” I demand. How long has he been standing there?
Eli kicks off the wall, looking immaculate in his fucking suit. I try to ignore his imposing presence, but it’s fucking hard when the man comes at six foot four and is built like a fucking house.
“I’m not chasing after you for some mafia fun bang shit,” I say, assessing my gun as if that was the problem with my aim.
“Mafia fun bang shit?” he repeats lazily as he leans against the screen between me and the empty stall beside me.
“How did you even get back here?” I ask. I make a point to hire the entire range every time I’m here. Simply put, I don’t play nicely with others, and I’ve experienced enough mansplaining on how to use a gun that I now make sure I have the place to myself—I have more than enough money to cover it.
When his smile kicks up, it’s answer enough. Because Eli Monti pays, persuades, or threatens to get what he wants. “I want to take you somewhere special.”
“Hard pass.” I put my ear protection on again and roll my shoulders, breathing with ease as I focus on the six new targets. I breathe in and out, my hand steady. Six rounds go off, all perfect shots. My lip twitches arrogantly, the slight tingle of adrenaline dancing beneath my skin, but it’s nothing like the high of the other night.
When I remove my ear protection and look to my right, I notice Eli frowning down the line of his range. I sigh but can’t help but be curious, so I lean into his space. Motherfucker is a decent shot. Out of the six rounds, four are dead center. It gives me smug satisfaction to know I’m a slightly better shot. As I should be, considering it’s my fucking job.
He’s looking at his gun as if it’s rigged. I sigh. The enjoyment of being alone here is gone because Eli won’t leave of his own accord.
“What do you want, Eli?”
“A date. I promised you a reward and a favor. I can manage both tonight.”
“That seems awfully cocky, don’t you think? Very few things excite me. Especially when they come from a man.”
He leans in, his hot breath against my ear, flushing me with an immediate fever. “I think we both know that’s a lie. Especially when your fiancé is involved.” He makes a point to look down at my left ring finger. I’ve kept the ring on, though I still haven’t gotten used to it.
“Does it involve food?” I ask, realizing I’ve only eaten a protein bar today.
“It can on the way, but not at the function.”
“The function?” I ask, looking down at my jeans and midriff-baring tank top.
“I have a change of clothes for you in the car.”
I scoff, but before I can argue with him, he says, “I promise you’ll love what I have for you, my sweet fiancée. It’s something that will exceed your expectations.”
I fold my arms over my chest. “Very doubtful.” And yet I follow him out to the car. He seems smug about it. As we walk out from behind the counter, Laurence seems to be avoiding my gaze, most likely embarrassed by whatever type of payoff was made for him to let Eli through. Though Eli most likely just walked straight through anyway.
“What, you just want me to leave my car parked here the rest of the day and overnight?” I demand as I stare at my yellow car. Other than Eli’s slick black sports car, it’s the only car in the lot.
“I’ll have Hawke and Ford drive it back to your apartment.”
I shake my head, furious with this man’s ability to always have everything go his way. And I want to fight and argue with him about it, but I’ve come to realize that while I’m stuck in this shitty position of fake marrying the mafia heir, I have to pick my battles.
And this is not a battle I need to fight.
He opens the passenger door to reveal a black bag on the seat. He pulls it out and hands it to me expectantly.
“How do you even know you have my measurements right?” I ask as I take it.
“I know everything about my fiancée. And besides, I have a photographic memory.”