Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102942 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
What I’m not is tolerant of my brand-new neighbor—Raiden Kane.
He’s infuriating, smug, and far too criminally attractive for someone who treats our shared parking like a declaration of war. Sure, I could handle all of that, but what I can’t handle is his Energizer Bunny stamina and apparent addiction to beautiful women—an addiction that plays out for hours every night through the insultingly thin wall between our bedrooms.
Raiden Kane knows exactly what he’s doing to me, and I’d dare say it’s the best game he’s ever played. My tolerance meter is wearing thin. Especially when he looks at me with those lazy bedroom eyes that suggest he already knows exactly how I taste.
Work is supposed to keep me sane. It’s my escape. Until it isn’t. Our worlds collide, and the man I’d happily strangle on principle starts turning up where he doesn’t belong.
Coincidence? Please.
There’s something off about Raiden Kane. He’s hiding secrets of his own, and I fully intend to pry them from his cocky, sinful soul … one delicious mistake at a time.
Living next door to him was a mistake.
Falling for him would be worse.
But underestimating him?
That might be the one thing that gets me killed
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
CHAPTER 1
KIARA
Okay, call me crazy, but I am willing to bet everything I have, even my pet cactus, Spikezilla, that there’s no single view more stunning than the coastline off the South of France. Nice, in particular. Especially standing at the top of the mountainside in a private estate, overlooking the breathtaking alcove beach below.
Alcove? Is that what they call it? Horseshoe, perhaps? A beach U-turn? I don’t know, either way, it’s the most beautiful thing I have ever seen, until the view is stolen with the impact of a heavy, black boot kicking right between my legs, slamming smack-dab against my precious vagina.
“Ahhh shit,” I screech, jumping back from the man I thought was dead on the patio of his beautiful estate. I clutch my bits and gape at the asshole, my sweet cookie silently screaming in agony. Good God, that hurt. “What the fuck, dude? That was a low blow.”
His only response is to gurgle around the blood he’s currently choking on. Though that may or may not have something to do with my favorite polished steel, curved double-edged blade that’s currently protruding from his throat. How it got there is a mystery to me. At least that’s what I’d say if I got caught. Not that I ever get caught. I’m just that good. Though apparently not good enough because my vagina was power-rammed by steel-toed boots, but I guess that’s what the South of France will do to a girl. It’s nothing more than a picturesque distraction. It leaves the vagina wide open for a railing—and not the good kind.
Letting out a sigh, I crouch down and grab the black ornate handle of the intricate blade and yank it free from its sheath, otherwise known as this corrupt politician’s esophagus, only for the floodgates to let loose and send blood spurting across the courtyard, and more importantly, all over me.
“Damn it. I’m gonna have to get this dry cleaned,” I grumble, pulling away from the dying politician as he quickly finishes bleeding out on the terracotta pavers. I have a great relationship with my dry cleaner. He doesn’t ask questions, but he’s definitely curious as to the constant blood stains on my clothes, and this little black corset top has seen way too many incidents like this. But what can I say? It’s my favorite.
After wiping the blade against my thigh, I go to leave when I turn and glance up at the massive home. It truly is beautiful. The epitome of French countryside living, and while I know I shouldn’t, I find myself itching to go inside.
I shouldn’t. I really shouldn’t. And yet . . . I really want to.
You miss all of the opportunities you don’t take, right? What could it hurt anyway? It’s just a peek. I won’t get caught. From the research I did, this magnificent property was bought by the family as a holiday home. The wife visits every few months with their daughter, whereas this scumbag is here every other week, using it as a meeting place for all his shady business deals and women he runs through—women young enough to be his daughter.
No wonder the contract came my way. It was only a matter of time.
It was too easy to lure him here, and now that all is said and done, I don’t see why I shouldn’t take just a quick peek at how the upper class truly lives.
Don’t get me wrong, I’m in no way on struggle street. I’m at the top of my game. One of the best contract killers across the globe, and I get paid handsomely for what I do, but I’m not flashy.
I live in a small apartment, just outside the city limits of LA, where it’s still busy enough to blend in. I can go out for a run every morning without people asking questions, can stop by my local barista, and have a decent conversation while I wait, and can be my edgy little self without drawing the wrong attention. It’s exactly what I need.
While I can more than afford to purchase a luxury estate in the South of France, all in cash, it’s not my style. So, what do I spend my money on, you ask? Black-market weapons. Nothing gets me more excited than a sleek, intricately designed blade with a matching set of brass knuckles and throwing stars. Fuck, I’m getting hot just thinking about it. It’s like that feeling as a kid when you’ve been begging your parents forever to go to Disney World, and they finally agree.
Shit. There’s truly nothing better.
Scanning over the massive estate, I take in the location of the cameras, though I don’t need to. I already have every last one of them committed to memory, but old habits die hard. I will never stop covering myself in these situations. No job is worth my life. The second my cover is blown, I’m as good as dead.