Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129676 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 648(@200wpm)___ 519(@250wpm)___ 432(@300wpm)
The hotel had twenty-five floors, and we were at the top of it. There was a good chance she wasn’t on the premises anymore.
A raspy cry erupted two doors into the hallway. Faint but unmistakably female. I inched to the room it came from, taking a step back and kicking the door down. It sailed and dragged across the plush carpet. I stomped over it on my way inside to find my wife pressed to the bed stomach down, her arms behind her back as a pasty, burly prick pressed his knee to her back while he zip-tied her. Another Irish soldier stood between us, advancing toward me with a knife.
Red tainted my vision as I grabbed the first guy and tossed him over his friend who was on top of Gia. They both tumbled down to the floor like bowling pins. One slammed against the wall beforehand, putting a hole in the drywall. Gia was still on the bed, motionless.
I grabbed the man on top of her by his greasy hair, yanking him to his feet. The other guy seemed in considerably worse shape, his neck fractured, by its unnatural angle. He was down for the count.
“Now.” I smashed the man’s nose against mine, sneering. He had heavy stubble and sharklike dead eyes. Definitely not a simple soldier. At least Tiernan Callaghan stopped sending me fucking amateurs. I was beginning to get a complex. “Want to try to zip-tie my wife again, this time to my face?”
The man pursed his lips insolently, trying to wiggle himself free of my hold.
Tugging on his hair, I angled his face to Gia, who was still on the mattress. “Does she look comfortable to you?”
No answer. Gia stared up in horror. She didn’t look injured, just shaken. My current behavior undoubtedly made things worse.
“Doesn’t look too comfortable to me.” I tossed the guy headfirst to the mattress far enough from her. I pressed the back of his head down with my palm, smothering him in an expensive sheet. “See? The lack of oxygen. The heat on your face. Not too friendly,” I said conversationally.
He flailed and writhed, squirming away from my touch. I yanked his head up.
“Where’s Tiernan?” I asked.
He coughed, gasped, but didn’t answer.
I pushed him down for another asphyxia session. Brought him up again after thirty seconds.
“How ’bout now?”
But he was a seasoned mobster, and despite his purple face and bloodshot eyes, his lips formed a thin line, and he gave me a cold stare. “Feck you, bastard.”
I put him down again. Finally, when he was weakened but not yet dead, I pulled him back up.
“One last chance to cooperate,” I offered.
His face was blue, his eyes swollen and unfocused. He wasn’t gonna crack.
“His death will be on your conscience,” I said to Gia, pointing at the still stoic man. “You could’ve prevented this if you just stayed put.”
“While you copped a feel and danced with a gorgeous woman?” Her eyes glittered.
Was she jealous? I wanted her to be.
“She is a mere child, and even if she wasn’t, you’re the only one who can do this to me.” I stepped toward the bed, grabbed her hand, and pushed it against my hardness. “The only one, Gia.”
“You expect me to believe you don’t find other women attractive?” she spluttered.
“I don’t expect jack other than to stop trying to get yourself killed. Now, if you’ll excuse me.” I dragged the brawny man toward the window, then slammed his face against the thick glass over and over again, breaking all his facial bones in the process.
“Jesus, Tate.” Gia scrambled up to a sitting position behind me. “What are you doing?”
“Throwing him out the window.”
“The window’s not even open!”
“That’s the best part.”
Thrash.
Thrash.
Thrash.
Finally, when the man was on his last few breaths, I unlatched the window’s lock and tossed him out.
Silence blanketed the room for a moment before Gia opened her mouth again.
“Do you think he’s dead?”
“No, sweetheart. Of course not.”
He was definitely dead. And in at least fourteen different pieces. But there really wasn’t any need to distress her further. I potentially killed two of Callaghan’s men today. I hoped it got the message across.
Shit. Now I had to clean this entire place of her fingerprints and mine.
It just became one hell of a crime scene.
Swiveling to my wife, I found her perched on the edge of the bed, trembling. Her hair was a mess, her makeup streaked with tears. I wanted to gather her in my arms and comfort her, but I was also beyond pissed that she’d put herself in danger again.
“How did you get here?”
“Th-they took my bracelet. The one my dad gave me,” she hiccupped, ignoring my question, rubbing her wrist absentmindedly. More tears slid down her cheeks, and she hugged herself. “They took my one last keepsake of everything good and happy and normal.”