Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66102 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 331(@200wpm)___ 264(@250wpm)___ 220(@300wpm)
Ace’s hand comes into my view, and when I see the symbol inked in the brighter light, I know exactly what I have to do and what I want to do tonight that will make me feel better.
There are nine members of the Italian Mafia who walked into my parents’ little shop that day and killed them. Each one of them had a tattoo between their thumb and index finger—a skull inked in red.
It’s a picture I can’t seem to erase from my mind.
That’s the symbol right there on his hand.
It’s the mark I have to look for, it’s the mark that I know is responsible for destroying my family.
I eye the other hands and notice all three of them have that exact tattooed symbol. Without realizing it they have made my night a little easier.
“Pretty thing, why don’t you change and get ready to dance?” Ace slaps my ass a bit too hard, but I smile anyway dropping my bag to the floor and pulling my shirt off over my head while plastering on a fake smile.
“Tell me where you want me, bad boy.”
Ace chuckles and picks me up, throwing me over his shoulder. “This one is mine.” He slaps my ass again—fucker.
“Ace,” a voice booms.
Ace stops in his tracks, places me gently on the floor, and smiles at me. “Stay, I’ll be back.” I wink and he leans in planting a kiss on my lips. “Fuck, you’re beautiful.”
I blush at his comment as he turns to leave. He slaps some other girls’ asses as he walks past them, and when I look for the other boys they have also disappeared. Pulling my bag up close, I check around. Ace walked out the back, but in front of me is a marble staircase.
To say fear doesn’t live in me right now would be a lie.
The what if’s are playing games in my head.
What if I get caught?
What if they work out exactly who I am?
What if they work out what I’m doing?
And what I plan to do will warrant my death, just as they—the mafia—warranted their own death the day they walked into my parents’ shop and murdered them.
Shaking my head, I look around, the music’s so loud no one hears or pays me any attention as I start up the steps. When I reach the top, I pause at the first door I touch. My heart rate picks up and is now beating out of my chest. If they’re behind door number one, I’m not sure what I’ll say.
Fuck it! Pushing it open, I find a man fucking two females. He looks back at me and smiles. Quickly, I shut the door.
Walking further down the immaculate hallway, the music starts to slowly fade as I arrive at the second door. When I push on it, I find a man laid back in a chair, a phone in one hand, and his other on his cock. He pumps it up and down rigorously, and I hear the groan of a woman on the other end of the line—he obviously has it on speaker—then his eyes find mine and he stops, and when he does, surprise and something else is written on his face. “Shut the door,” he grits out. His cock’s still out and hard, while he watches me with intent. I go to step out when his hand wraps back around his cock, and I see the distinctive mark on his hand. I step in shutting the door behind me. “You don’t know what you’ve walked into.” The way he says it, it’s as if he’s warning me. He probably is. But no one has warned him, and I won’t give him that courtesy either. “Why don’t you grab a drink and come over here and sit on me.” He slides his hand up his cock again. Slow rhythmic strokes. The red ink skull shining like a beacon at me. It’s teasing me.
Holding onto my bag, I open his small fridge with shaky hands and take for two beers, popping the tops. Keeping my back to him, stealthily I reach inside my bag and pull out a small baggie and drop some of the contents into his bottle. I walk over and hand it to him. He smiles up at me, his teeth are yellow, obviously from smoking, and he’s probably the least attractive of the boys I’ve met so far.
“What’s your name, hot stuff?” I ask. I might as well know the name of the man I intend to kill. He takes a sip of the drink with his cock still out. There’s no shame in this man, whatsoever, all he cares about is getting off.
“Mack. Now, how about you take them clothes off, and let me see what I’m working with. Or I can do it, with force. It’s your choice, girlie.”