Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 156728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 784(@200wpm)___ 627(@250wpm)___ 522(@300wpm)
“Leave me alone!” Jack shouted, staggering on uneven ground.
“Pfft. I got better things to do,” one woman said, turning away.
The other followed, but paused at the end of the alley. “You comin’, Myrtle?”
She looked at her friends, then back to Jack. “Nah, you go ahead.”
The other women disappeared around the corner.
“You’re hurt. You need—”
“I don’t need anything!” He spat at her shoes. Red shoes.
“Easy now.” She crept closer. “What’s in the bag?”
“Nothing.”
“Who you running from? Who hurt you?”
“No one.”
“You’re bleedin’ pretty—” When she reached for him, he swung.
She yanked the pillowcases filled with money out of his hand. “Jesus, Mary, and Joseph…”
“No!” He swung again, clipping her in the jaw just as his feet spun and his legs gave out. His head smacked against the pavement, and a burst of white blinded his eyes. “Don’t…” He couldn’t open his eyes. “Don’t…”
She laughed, her warm breath teasing his face as she whispered, “Timber.”
Jack woke with a gasp, jackknifing out of bed, lungs seizing as if he’d been held underwater. Fists up, prepared to fight.
For three desperate heartbeats, he didn’t know where he was.
Blood on his hands. Blood on the walls.
But as his eyes focused, the suite came into view. No blood. Only silence and shadows and the ghosts of his past.
The Volkov family crest hung on a tapestry across from the bed.
Safe.
Almost twenty years since that night, and it still haunted him.
He pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes, willing his heartbeat to slow. Sweat slicked his chest, dampened the sheets gathered at his hips. The nightmare clung like smoke, and he shut his eyes, waiting for it to fade.
Jack flinched as a soft knock sounded from the door.
“Good morning, sir.” Nick’s voice preceded his purposeful steps as he moved toward the dressing room. “I’ve sent for breakfast. High protein for a busy day. Poached eggs, smoked salmon, and avocado. Coffee’s on its way.”
Jack didn’t move from the bed. Didn’t trust his legs yet, his bare chest still rising and falling too fast.
“The weather’s changed for the better. There’s a warm front coming in. We may just have ourselves a spring yet,” Nick informed from deep within the wardrobe. “The Volkovs offered use of their personal gym, and you have eleven hours until…”
Nick’s words faded the moment he laid eyes on him.
Jack turned his gaze away, grinding his teeth. “Don’t look at me like that.”
He could only imagine what he saw. Ashen face, a sheen of sweat across a battered chest, the rigid shadow of a traumatized boy forever locked in a grown man’s body.
Nick’s professional mask slipped, revealing true concern. “Should I call for a doctor?”
“I’m fine. Just a bad dream.” His voice scraped like flint.
“Shall I delay breakfast?”
“No.” Jack threw back the covers and rose from the bed, bare assed and unabashed, moving directly to the bathroom.
Nick didn’t react, accustomed to his employer’s scars and secrets alike. It wasn’t a topic open for discussion.
The bathroom provided a suitable place to hide, but his mind was too unraveled to appreciate the opulence. Stepping behind the stone wall where the loo hid, he planted a palm on the wall and aimed his cock.
Heated slate floors warmed his feet. Flushing, he stepped back and faced the stone alcove that housed the shower, catching his reflection from the corner of his eye.
His body was a study in contradictions. Lean muscle, broad shoulders, and a tapered waist under a roadmap of destruction. Each muscle was honed from discipline rather than vanity. His body was built to survive, not to be admired.
Twisting the valve in the wall, he didn’t wait for the water to warm before stepping under the spray. He scrubbed his face under the frigid water, waiting for the cobwebs of his past to wash away.
The chilled water cooled his skin. Rivulets rolled over the raised ridges slashed across his shoulders. Grooves and gouges tore deep enough to defy time. Silver flesh furrowed, written in sin, marking the worst of his childhood in a language others would never read as clearly as he.
And there, just above his hip, the brand that once marked him as property—RA.
Sold like livestock, for nothing more than beans.
Now, outsiders only saw exactly what he wanted them to see. A well-dressed man of power, an inscrutable threat, a danger, a jury, a reaper. He showed the world whatever version it deserved. If they were one of the few who saw the darker secrets hidden underneath, he was the last person they’d ever see.
The water heated to scalding, and he welcomed the sting. Needles stabbed into taut muscle as he braced his hands against the stone wall, head sagging between his tense shoulders.
His cock hung heavy against his thighs, stubborn and insistent. Despite his efforts, his body had needs that refused to be ignored.
His fist moved without ceremony, gripping the thick length and pumping hard. He didn’t think. Didn’t dwell. He merely concentrated on the result so he could get on with his day.