Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84968 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Not that it would've been a significant loss.
Slamming the knife on the table in front of his face, I focused on the task at hand.
"Who do you owe money to?" The question hung in the air like a blade.
He shook his head, refusing to answer. Maybe Richard had more balls than I thought. That meant it was time to make them shrivel.
"Grab his hands," I ordered.
Mikhail raised an eyebrow as my men grabbed Richard's hands and held them to the table. Richard tried balling the one fist he could still make, but my men straightened out those fingers pretty easily.
He sobbed harder as I took my place in front of him and pulled the revolver from the holster tucked at my side. Slowly, methodically, I unloaded it. Then pulled another two bullets from my pocket and stood them up in a neat little row on the table, like soldiers awaiting orders.
"You have seven fingers left, my friend. We are going to play a little game. Seven bullets for seven fingers."
"There are eight bullets," he said, his voice barely a whisper.
"The bonus round," I said, the corners of my mouth pulling into a sinister smile as I took the first bullet and slid it in the chamber before spinning it and clipping it closed.
He tried to pull away as I held the muzzle to his right index finger and repeated my question.
"Who do you owe money to?"
"I can't—" he cried, and I fired the gun.
The hollow click echoed in the hangar, and Richard's shoulders sagged as he sobbed.
"Lucky you, you get to keep pushing buttons and pointing at things, for now." I opened the gun and placed another bullet in the cylinder and spun it again, placing it against his thumb. "The first time you had a one-in-six chance, it's now a two-in-six. Do you like those odds?"
"No, please."
"Tell me who owns your debt," I yelled.
He let out a strangled sob, and I pulled the trigger. The shot was loud, and his blood and bone sprayed over the table. He screamed, his entire body jerking.
"Uh, boss." One of my men nodded under the table. I looked below and saw the bullet not only blew off his thumb, but blew through his shoe about where his big toe would have been.
"Hey." I turned to Damien and Mikhail. "I got a two-fer."
"Nice." Damien nodded.
"Bonus points." Mikhail lifted his chin in approval.
"Next hand," I said, turning back to Richard and loading in another bullet. "Still a two-in-six."
"The Colombians," he screamed. "Los Infideles. They are the ones I owe the most to. They are the ones getting paid by Alina. Please, I need a hospital."
"Fuck," Damien groaned behind me.
Ignoring Richard and his pathetic cries, I turned to Damien to see the exasperated look of annoyance.
"What?"
Damien gave a wry smirk. "Let's just say we don't have the best relationship with them. After all, we slaughtered their leader and half their enforcers when we rescued my wife."
Because, of course, this couldn't be as simple as paying off some street gang.
The implications hit me immediately. I thought about Alina and the power struggle between Artem and Gregor.
I carefully weighed my options.
Alina was just some cleaner who had seen something she shouldn't have. Or at least that was what she should've been.
She was more, so much more. I wasn't sure what she was, but I knew I wasn't ready to let her go.
The others wouldn't understand, and I really wasn't sure I understood either.
I should've just washed my hands of the entire thing.
Killed this asshole and his daughter. The Columbians need never know I was ever involved. They would probably assume that Richard owed someone else money. Hell, he probably did.
It would have been so easy to kill him and Alina, let the old woman face whatever consequences life and death had for her, and move on with my life.
But then images of Alina flooded my mind—the way she'd yielded to me, fought me, surrendered to me.
Then I thought of how hungrily her cunt clamped onto my fingers, how sweet her cunt tasted, and how good it felt when her wet, sultry heat milked my cock as I pushed through her innocence.
I came to one simple conclusion.
Fuck it.
"Well, it's about to get worse, because I intend to kill every one of those fuckers," I said with a twisted smile.
"Is it worth it, starting a war over this woman?" Damien asked quietly as he rubbed the edge of his jaw.
An unfamiliar wave of possessiveness crashed over me as I thought of Alina—my Alina.
I thought of her dainty softness against my body, how her eyes slid closed as she tried not to give in to the passion just before she came, the way fire flared in those same eyes when she felt cornered.
"Yes."
I couldn't explain it, but there was something fragile and vulnerable yet feisty about her that deeply intrigued me. I wanted more, and no one was going to take her away from me.