Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107079 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
The theater wasn’t gone. It had been taken from us.
And I knew who had done it.
I lifted my head from Mrs. McCullen’s shoulder and looked along the street. There was a row of empty, derelict buildings, and then the entire rest of the block was taken up by a single massive structure, a flattened slab of polished granite with no windows. The casino. The man who owned it had been wanting to expand for years. He’d bought up all the other buildings in this street, but the Community Theater had held out. So he’d torched the place to force them to sell.
The anger flared brighter, hotter...and suddenly, I was letting go of Mrs. McCullen and stalking through the police and firefighters and onto the sidewalk. Sniffing back my tears, I marched down to the entrance of the casino at the end of the block.
I threw open the glass doors and waited while my eyes adjusted to the gloom. The owner kept it dark inside, and hot as the pits of hell. Heat meant people drank more, and the waitresses could wear less, and it was easier to separate drunk, ogling men from their money. The security guys at the door frowned suspiciously at my leather jacket and leather pants, but let me pass. I headed straight through the jungle of blaring, rattling slot machines, then crossed the rowdy main floor, past roulette wheels and craps tables. I scanned left and right as I walked, searching the mass of people, but I couldn’t see him anywhere...
And then suddenly, ahead of me, the crowd fell silent and started to split in two, people scuttling white-faced to clear a path. Someone was approaching, and there was only one person who’d scare everyone like that.
He appeared, marching straight towards me, scowling at everything and everyone. Blackjack dealers snapped to attention. Waitresses swallowed and held their trays a little straighter. Everyone knew about this man’s temper and the violence he could unleash. His gaze took in every detail, ensuring that his money-making machine was wringing every last dollar out of every single customer, and that no one was being stupid enough to try to cheat him.
I’d heard what he did to cheaters.
His suit was so dark it was almost black: it soaked up the light, and it was only when he moved that you could make out the sheen of the expensive fabric. His shirt was the deep red of spilled blood, and his collar was open, revealing the tattoos that wound their way like a lover up his chest and around his neck. By rights, he should have been ugly: the exterior should have matched his poisonous heart. But his Russian heritage had blessed him with a strong, square jaw glossy with stubble, and gorgeously sharp cheekbones. His eyes were like pale gray ice, beautiful but so cold it almost hurt to look at them. And the way his full lower lip jutted as he scowled was pure sex.
Terrifying, dangerous, and sinfully tempting. If the devil walked the earth, he’d look exactly like—
“Gennadiy Aristov.” My voice was raw with anger, even as I fought to keep it level. I hate the Bratva, the Russian Mafia. They’re so much worse than the normal criminals. They’ve weaponized crime, turned it into a tool to amass power. And the Aristovs are the worst of all: they have judges and politicians in their pockets: even, supposedly, the mayor. As well as the casino, Gennadiy ran all of the family’s illegal operations: the guns and the drugs, the protection rackets… And over the last year or two, his brutality had spiraled out of control.
Gennadiy’s gaze raked over me, studying me like a bug. “Yes?” he asked, his voice disdainful and scalpel-sharp. The two Bratva guys who walked alongside him moved their hands to the guns under their jackets, but they didn’t draw them. I’m 5’4” and small-built: even in biker leathers, I’m not exactly intimidating.
We stopped, only a few feet apart. I could feel the rage straining to break free. “You burned down the theater,” I blurted.
Gennadiy lifted one perfect, dark brow. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.” That accent! It caressed each word like a paintbrush dipped in liquid silver. But it didn’t hide the undercurrent of smug satisfaction. It had been him. And he wanted me to know it.
The rage slipped loose, expanding, consuming me. I didn’t have a plan. I didn’t think about how many people he’d killed, or how much trouble I could get in. I just knew he’d ripped away the only part of my childhood I had left, and destroyed something precious and beautiful, and he didn’t care, no one cared, and no one was going to do a fucking thing about it, and—
I punched him in the face as hard as I could.