Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149148 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 746(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 497(@300wpm)
Even with her eyes closed, the pictures on the tabloid still burned in her mind. It can’t be him, she thought feverishly. It must be an old photo, drummed out by Herod Andreadis. Or maybe it was—
A sob caught in her throat.
The photo had Helios inside the penthouse suite of a hotel, which had only been completed this month. The Christopoulos family owned the hotel, and she and Helios had been invited to attend its grand launch. Now she knew Helios was able to attend...but not with her.
No, no, no, no—
Panic waltzed back into her imagination, mockingly repeating the words MJ was screaming inside her mind.
It was only when she heard James laughing above her that MJ realized she had sunk to her knees. “It’s not true,” she whispered, but the lack of conviction in her voice made her flinch.
“It is true, you stupid cunt,” James jeered. “Want me to bring you old issues? All of them has Helios in it, with different women in his arms each week.” The misery in her face filled him with glee, and when he looked down at her, he didn’t really see MJ. It was the face of MJ’s father he saw, crumpled with pain and defeat.
Too bad Vlahos was dead. It would have been better if he had been alive. James would have sent snapshots of MJ’s injuries over the years, and this would have been his crowning glory.
“You should get up,” James said brusquely. “You wouldn’t want Manolito to see you like that, would you? He might realize that you still love Helios Andreadis, and...”
The door behind them swung open.
MJ froze, the sound of it filling her mind with terror.
“If I realize my little dear still wants her Greek lover, what would I do?”
MJ’s teeth sank into her lip as Manolito pulled her head back by the hair. Their eyes met just before Manolito’s gaze turned wild with rage. He spat at her face, and she couldn’t even react, every part of her immobilized by fright.
He wasn’t just angry, MJ thought numbly. He was livid, murderously so.
He spit at her again, and she didn’t even blink.
“You thought to string me along for the ride while you wait for your young Greek lover to rescue you?”
She started to shake her head, but this only seemed to inflame him more. The last thing she saw was Manolito’s boot-covered foot heading towards her face.
As everything went dark, imaginary Helios fell to his knees. Let me see you, brat.
Oh, how she had wanted to hear those words from him for so long. But now they meant nothing.
JAMES GAZED DOWN AT the check he held in his hands. One million dollars. It was his. And it was all thanks to Vlahos and Madeline’s brat. Shoving it back into his shirt’s breast pocket, he shrugged into his leather jacket and grabbed his overnight bag from the bed. It was time to go. He knew how things worked in Manolito’s world. Regular deposits into his bank account meant Manolito would keep MJ around until she broke. But a one-time payment like this? He doubted she would last more than a week.
When he got to the airport, James decided to take a flight to Nassau on a whim. He used to go there for vacation between races, and back in the day, the parties there had been wild. It had been years since he had been there. Surely someone would recognize him still? Anyone who did, James thought magnanimously, would be treated like a king by him.
As he paid for his ticket over the counter, James was completely unaware of eyes that followed his every move. He was just as oblivious when a stewardess took his photo from behind the liquor cart, too lost in his fantasies of reclaiming his glory days as a celebrated race car driver.
Unfortunately for him, his dreams were doomed to stay unrealized.
The moment he stepped out of the airport, a pair of casually dressed men cornered him, trapping James in between their hulking bodies. He opened his mouth to protest but fell silent when he felt the butt of a gun pressed to his side. They didn’t tell him to come with them quietly after that. They knew they didn’t have to. Someone like James was sure to know the rules.
They pushed him inside the backseat of a nondescript-looking car, and again James was kept between his two captors. In front of him were two other men, both of them sporting Hawaiian shirts, and they would have looked no different from ordinary tourists if not for the guns tucked under their shirts.
The reality of his situation became a lot clearer when the man on his left began to tie his wrists. “Where are you taking me? What do you want?” His blood chilled as a thought occurred to him. “Are you working for Chavez? It’s not my fault he’s—”