Total pages in book: 149
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142050 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 710(@200wpm)___ 568(@250wpm)___ 474(@300wpm)
And two—
Qhuinn re-formed in a snowbank and looked up at a modern version of the kind of stately mansion he grew up in.
“We’re gonna hunt you until we find you,” he finished.
Fucking aristocrats. Always planning shit.
Taking out a copper key, he mounted the shoveled front steps and unlocked the heavy door. As he opened things up, the alarm that had been installed a week ago started to tick down, and while he traded that slip of rosy-colored metal for a big-ass block of Beretta, things were turned off back at headquarters.
He did not shut himself in as he stepped over the threshold.
While he flipped the safety off his gun and glanced around, all he wanted to do was get his hands around Whestmorel’s pencil neck and snap it off the spine at the ascot. The aristocrat had proven to be craftier than expected, however. He’d made his threat—and then done what most members of the glymera could not handle.
He’d gone underground and stayed there, quiet as a mouse.
Not the move of an amateur, and no doubt the snob wasn’t just twiddling his thumbs.
“You’ll have to come up for air sometime,” Qhuinn muttered.
Sooner or later, there would be a tip-off. A financial flare sent up through the web that Vishous could trace. An associate who blabbed to somebody, a sighting at an event, a mistake that led to a crack in the conspiracy.
Or… an actual attempt made on the King’s life.
That last one was the contingency everybody least wanted.
And the reason he felt like jumping out of his own skin.
Stalking forward into the drawing room, he looked at the vacant spot over the fireplace—and wondered what kind of oil painting had been boosted on Whestmorel’s way to the exit. The guy had taken all computer components, cell phones, and security monitoring equipment with him. Safe was also empty—the Brotherhood’d figured that out when Zsadist had blown the door off. And there were all kinds of vacancies on the walls and the shelves that suggested some of the choice art had been taken on the evac, too.
What the hell were they going to do with the rest of Whestmorel’s shit? The male’s daughter had renounced her own bloodline—to the point that she’d even left her things behind in the house, in spite of the fact that she was totally innocent and had been offered the chance to take what she wanted.
So the rest of this was just high-class junk, really, all of which needed to be sold or donated so they could put the mansion on the open human market and cash the fuck out.
“Or we can just light this bitch on fire.” He paused by a gilt-framed mirror and deliberately moved it off-kilter. “And get out the marshmallows—”
“Did someone say ‘Stay Puft?’ ”
He swung around with his weapon pointed at chest level—but was already lowering it before Rhage shoved a grape Tootsie Pop into his mouth and put his palms up.
“You can keep your s’mores,” Hollywood maintained. “Just don’t shoot me before I get my licks in.”
Qhuinn cursed. “You could have made a little noise—”
“I did. I asked you about the Stay and the Puft. Very important stuff.”
The Brotherhood’s golden boy lowered his hands and crunched down into the chocolate center. That he was eating was no surprise. And go figure, he was still resplendently handsome, big as a house, blond as a sunny day.
Then again, he’d been all that long before Qhuinn had even been on the planet.
“Entering,” a deep male voice announced.
“See?” Qhuinn pointed at Zsadist as the brother came in. “That’s how you do it.”
Rhage popped the lollipop stick out of his mouth and pointed with it. “You know what I like about you, kid?”
It seemed stupid to remind the male that he was mated and had two full-grown young of his own. “Tell me.”
“You always follow the rules.” Rhage clapped Qhuinn on the shoulder. “Which means you’re good backup.”
Qhuinn blinked. He’d been called a lot of things in his life. Rule follower…?
As some of the other brothers filed in, he reassured himself that his piercings were all in place.
Even—discreetly—his Prince Albert.
“I’ll clear the first floor,” he announced, getting his second gun out.
Walking fast, he put both weapons up as he continued through the standard category of formal rooms, all of which had their drapes drawn. Even though the whole place had been camera’d and mic’d up ever since they’d assumed ownership last week, no one could take any chances tonight.
They already knew shit was clear. But again, that didn’t matter.
He wasn’t about to trust a bunch of cameras with what was coming. None of them were.
Opening up his senses, he sent a healthy dose of paranoid out into the drawing room. The study. The library. The music room. As he went along, refreshing his memory of the silk-covered furniture and the museum quality antiques, the Persian rugs on the floors and the portraits on the walls, he heard the others walking around upstairs through the bedrooms, the closets, the laundry room. Another team went all the way to the attic, and a final one dove into the basement and the garage.