Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
And with a short, stifling breath, I learn to trust again. “Yeah.” Because quite frankly, if I would ever want an us, I would want an us with Julius.
He stands then, placing me on my feet and giving me a look that tells me he no longer wants to leave. With a huff, he shakes his head and steps away from me. “Tomorrow, we talk.”
“Okay,” is all I say, because I can’t think with him so close.
Another step toward the door. “And you’ll tell me everything.”
“I will,” I promise, masking my surprised relief of having someone to confide in. I haven’t been able to openly talk to anyone in years. Having that now, after all this time, makes me feel equal parts nervous and thrilled.
He pauses at the doorway, dressed in all black, looking like heaven on earth. He takes his time, looking his fill, and without a single spoken word, he turns and leaves. And I let him.
“It’s all about us now.”
What does that mean exactly?
I definitely know what I want it to mean, but my hopes have been dashed so many times before, I don’t want to overthink Julius’s cryptic statement.
My mind a mess, I climb back into bed, curl up into a ball, holding myself tightly, and cover myself completely.
Not ten minutes pass before I hear the tedious sound of clicking heels in the distance. The covers are thrown off me and I stiffen, not sure what to expect. Maybe a beating, just to shake things up.
Instead, Ling glances down at me in repulsion. Looking down her nose at me, she says, “Get up.”
But I’m confused, and the words don’t sink in.
After a short minute, she repeats herself, “I said get up.”
Using my elbow to lift myself into a half-sitting position, I question her, “Why?”
With a sly smile, she reveals, “Because we’re going out.”
What?
I sit up fully, eyes wide. “Where?”
But she retreats, her signature heels clicking right out of the room.
I collapse back onto the bed and wonder whether this is such a good idea.
From down the hall, Ling yells, “Get up!”
And because it sounds more of a demand than an invite, I get my ass up.
When Ethan Black hands me the long, black baton, I blink down at it a moment before turning my glare up to him and asking, “What the fuck? You think this is band practice, Black? Jesus, give me something deadly.”
After the silence I gave as a peace offering during the eight-hour flight to the state of our target, you’d think he’d be more appreciative.
Black grins darkly and leans in to sneer, “Not on your life.”
Cocksucking jack-off.
Surrounded by men in black SWAT gear, I blend in with the crowd, dressed extraordinarily similar, but the only thing missing could save my life.
A gun.
As the truck slows to a crawl then stops completely, I shake my head. “Not feeling good about this, Black.”
Ignoring my concerns, he probes, “Is that the place?”
My eyes turn up to meet his and I let my defiance be known through the cold expression on my face.
He stares me down before asking again, “That the place or not, Twitch?” And I breathe deeply, calming the urge to break his fucking jaw.
I don’t bother looking out the window. I’ve been here before. I remember it well. “It’s the place.”
The quaint townhouse in the suburbs is modest and appears to be like any other townhouse on the block. It draws very little attention to it in the way of looks. If a person were to pass it on the street, they wouldn’t look twice at it. It’s unassuming, inconspicuous, designed for that very purpose.
The goings-on inside however… that’s something else completely.
Drugs are being packed and sold as we wait. Also being sold are the bodies of girls between the ages of sixteen and twenty. Because, as Egon Baris, owner of this house and the leader of the Albanian Shiptare, had once told me, no one wants to pay for saggy tits and a loose cunt, but men will pay surprisingly well for a playmate without an identity, a playmate that no one will miss should that playtime escalate to something darker.
Majority of these girls are brought in by the container-load from Eastern Europe, mainly from Poland, Ukraine, and Romania. The prettier ones are led by the promise of becoming dancing girls at popular US nightspots, while the plain girls are told they will be serving at some of the finest eating establishments this country has to offer.
Egon doesn’t like to drug his girls, because, A: he gets off on seeing the girls cower in fear, knowing what’s coming when a man steps into her room, and B: he doesn’t believe in wasting his product.
There are concealed, illegally obtained, military grade weapons in the basement, including those of police officers, former and present. Some of the artillery belongs to the Russian armed forces, but it was stolen by some ballsy prick without a name, a man who didn’t expect to survive the heist, and when the price of those weapons tripled, Egon paid the man without complaint, into the hundreds of millions.