Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84901 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
My woman.
In no time, the motorcycle’s engine rumbled. We tore through the streets, Natasha holding me tight. Wind slapped our faces, and we soon reached a block of flats in Dundee’s worst patches. I parked, kicking the stand.
“Keep your head down, Natasha. Nobody gives a crap here. But there’s a system. If someone has a bounty, they—”
“They snitch?” Natasha climbed off first.
“Aye. But this place ain’t so bad. It’s quite literally a resort.”
“I’m not a diva, but I could use a massage?” Her brow lifted.
“Meh. Massages usually come with happy, itchy endings. They also have a street pharmacist. And a shady doc.” I lifted my bad hand. “Let’s get this fixed. Raincheck on the spa date?”
She nodded.
The stench of piss hit us before we reached the door.
“You got the PIN for the keypad access?” She gestured to the code lock.
“No need.” I shoved the door open. The lock didn’t work. Nobody cared, making it useful for Kieran.
Kieran had a network running through these flats with the efficiency of bad plumbing. Drug dealers, the dodgy masseuse with a loyalty punch card, that probably now only served said dealers since Kieran got married. All on the first floor, in odd-numbered apartments, naturally. Same went for the “doctor” with credentials from a YouTube tutorial who reattached my finger.
Though he’d helped out, the lad wouldn’t let me borrow his phone. “Too risky,” he said. Too risky, mate? He just stitched me up with thread from a sewing kit! At least he handed me a bag of gauze and enough painkillers to make the Dodgers’ drug testing department twitch. I’d fail a random drug test three times over. Bless him.
We climbed a narrow staircase, coming to a hall. Under the welcome rug for the right spot, I pulled it away.
Roaches scattered. I grabbed Kieran’s spare key, muttering cusswords.
Inside, the place was quiet, bare bones, just a couch in the living room.
Natasha’s mouth curved. “Nothing’s crawling.”
“Not yet.” I stomped a foot. Nothing scatted. I rifled through the kitchen. “Find another phone?”
“Okay. Would Kieran lock it?” Natasha asked, heaving a sigh.
“With his mam’s birthday. She’s gone; he struggles.”
Warmth softened her features. Natasha hooked a thumb. “See what I can find.”
The fridge reeked like something had died twice.
I checked the cupboard for more than just the chips we’d scored from the car. I found a package of rice and a pot and started to cook it. While waiting, I checked my phone. Still dead.
Natasha strolled into the room, gripping a Glock. “Found this under the mattress.” She strode over, placed it into my hands, and removed the other man’s cellphone from her pocket. “I’ll try some other combos.”
As I pushed the Glock into my belt, I wanted her to see me. Not just connect eyes because of her sorrow for Kieran’s mam.
Man, she didn’t even lift her gaze while we shared the chips. We stood around as she muttered how Lorenzo’s dad took her father’s belt in the cage. Before a much-anticipated rematch, Gotti lost the belt to another UFC fighter, and Vassili snatched it back. She was right. Lorenzo’s obsession was confusing. But he was off his head, so the backstory? Totally inconsequential.
After the rice finished, I poured it into bowls. “No forks, spoons.” I glared at the steam furrowing from the bowls, still hungry.
“Luckily, we had appetizers. Are we gonna sit, Lach? Don’t think I didn’t see you use some of the whiskey in that flask to wipe the coffee mugs before you filled them.”
She sipped from her cup; her nose furrowed at the heat probably building in her chest. I knocked my mug back, finished it in one gulp.
Natasha sipped hers again, then stepped to me. Her eyes hooded and lips parted just so. I shoved my good hand into the pocket of my jeans for more reasons than one. “We can sit, Tash.”
She took my other hand, smiling.
“Now that my stomach’s not growling, I have an idea to pass the time, so the rice doesn’t give our fingers second-degree burns. By the way, my cellphone is in the rest of the uncooked rice. I hope it works.” As if this is what I wanted to mention.
“Me too.” Her smile was faint.
I groaned. “Natasha, you’re too good for this place. Too good to run around the Highlands. Too good for me to touch you with”—I lifted my bandaged hand—“this! I don’t deserve to touch you. I’m supposed to be putting the finishing touches on your birthday in two weeks.” Which included the proposal of the century. “But we’re here. In this … hellhole!”
Her eyes softened, and a fire lit behind them. “I caused this, Lachlan!”
“No. Lorenzo did.”
“Well, I’m frustrated. I only want one thing, and you’re standing in the way.” Desire and aggression, twin flames danced in her eyes. “I want to fill myself up with you, Lach. Not shame or anger. You.” Her hands slid into my hair, pulling me down until her mouth found mine.