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)
All that extra sleep gave him way too much energy, and he screwed that woman from nine right through until five in the morning. So I did what any caring neighbor would do and set him up to be visited by every Jehovah’s Witness door knocker in the state. I booked so many meetings that he has someone coming to knock on his door to talk about the good Lord and Savior, Jesus Christ, every fifteen minutes. And because I couldn’t possibly give him an escape, I booked meetings at his office too.
Day five, I’d managed to sneak a picture of him on one of his favorite early morning runs, which I’ve come to realize is his way to escape my tactics. I posted the picture across every social media page I could with the caption, “Are we dating the same guy?” and I happily watched out the window as he walked his latest date back to our apartment complex, only for her to see the post, slap him across the face, and storm off while muttering something to herself. He’d looked up at me from the street, flipped me the bird, and then spent his night learning the art of Brazilian Jiu-Jitsu in his living room.
I took it upon myself to start learning the drums, and by day six, my eyeballs were falling out of my head. I’ve become nocturnal, and it’s really screwing with my overall vibe. I don’t fuck with change. I like things the way they are, and Raiden Kane is screwing everything up.
Luckily, a new contract presented itself to me yesterday morning. In a matter of hours, I was at the airstrip, taking the jet to Arizona. The target is a Fortune 500 CEO, but what should have been a quick kill has turned into almost twenty-four hours of recon. Apparently, someone tipped him off about the hit because he’s gone to ground, but I’m no quitter. Despite my recent experiences with my new neighbor, when it comes to my work, I generally have the patience of a saint.
I wait him out for the perfect moment to strike, and then earn another million-dollar check. I have just enough time to snap a few selfies at the Grand Canyon National Park for my blog before taking my ass home.
I’m utterly exhausted, but the welcome-home party next door seems perfectly timed. As soon as my head hits the pillow, Raiden Kane picks right up where we left off, fucking his way through LA.
I’ve got to give it to him. He’s found himself a real keeper with this new girl. She’s loud. And I don’t just mean with her groans and grunts. She’s a screamer. Like high-pitched, animalistic screeching. I know he set out with the intention to drive me as crazy as possible, but I don’t know how he even stands it.
“That’s it, baby,” Raiden’s deep tone booms through the wall. “Scream for me. Louder.”
Fuck me.
The woman responds with delight as though no man on the planet has ever asked for more. “OH GOD, YES!” She goes absolutely feral, the sound piercing through my eardrums as I squish the pillow over my head so hard I almost suffocate myself.
This can’t be happening.
He rails her on the bed, the squeaky mattress slamming against the headboard over and over, making the cornices on my bedroom ceiling begin to crumble. White plaster falls over me like snow, and I can’t help but send a prayer up for the poor girl’s vagina. How hard is he fucking her to make my walls physically begin to crumble? Surely that goes past the point of pleasure and firmly into the realm of pain. Shit, I know I wouldn’t be able to walk for a week after that.
“MORE! MORE! HARDER!”
“Noooo,” I fake sob to myself. “Please, no more.”
It goes on and on, hour after hour.
“YES, XADEN!”
I laugh. “IT’S RAIDEN, YOU DAFT BIMBO!”
The girl gasps, and the room suddenly goes quiet. “Who the fuck was that?”
Raiden laughs. “Just my nosy neighbor,” he says, banging on the wall as if to prove some kind of point. “She has some weird kinks and likes to listen through the walls. She’s a little freak like that, but it’s sad. She isn’t capable of coming. She has a rare disease. They call it Hostile Terrain Syndrome. It’s where the inside of her vag is like experiencing an epic sandstorm. Really dry and rough. Friction burn and blisters rule her life, so she can’t have sex. But I make sure she can live vicariously through me, you know, let her really experience a taste of the good life where I can.”
“Oh, my god,” the girl swoons. “That’s so sad. The poor girl. I couldn’t imagine how that must feel. But you really are the perfect guy. That’s so considerate of you. She’s so lucky to have somebody like you in her corner.”