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)
But this property . . . fuck.
I’ll keep it quick.
Sticking to the blind spots in this poorly designed security system, I make my way toward the patio doors and slip inside the house, and it’s exactly as I expected, utterly breathtaking.
Polished parquet floors stretch throughout the foyer with soft limestone walls leading up to the high ceilings. This home is like a fine wine, meant to impress. It’s luxury that’s endured the test of time, and reserved only for those with the kind of wealth that the rest of us could only ever dream of.
Passing through the kitchen, I take in the Quartzite counters before striding through the array of interconnected living spaces, each one of them effortlessly opening into the next. I’m in awe. It’s absolutely beautiful.
Moving into another massive foyer, I look up to find a breathtaking set of twin staircases that curve up either side of the massive room, their dark wrought-iron balustrades curling and twisting with eloquent designs right to the top, and I can’t help but wonder how much effort had gone into creating this masterpiece, because designs like this simply aren’t made by machine. These have been custom-made with nothing less than sweat, blood, and tears.
Stepping onto the first stair, I begin the climb to the second floor, making sure not to touch a thing. This whole property will be swept for evidence the moment old vagina kicker is discovered out on the terrace, and when he is, there won’t be a scrap left to find. At least, not from me. Perhaps eyes will point toward the three men who were here earlier in the day for what I can only assume was a business meeting, probably working out how to best defraud the system and line their already deep pockets.
Finding the main bedroom, I’m immediately in awe of the views that look out over the mountainside and down to the sprawling ocean below. It’s everything. But it doesn’t hold my attention the way the entrance to the wife’s massive walk-in closet does.
Now, I might not be someone who splurges on cars and homes, but shit, I’m one helluva sucker for designer bags.
It’s like every collector’s wet dream in here. Coats and gowns fill the cupboards, surrounded by every brand of heel under the sun. Boots, strappy heels, pumps, and flats, each sorted by brand and then by color.
Her jewelry is next, and I’m speechless. Who could possibly need this much jewelry? But also, if there’s this much here, I can’t even begin to fathom just what her collection at her main residence looks like.
I go out of my way to stop and steal a new top that isn’t covered in her husband’s blood, before also grabbing a bikini, because why shouldn’t I enjoy a few hours on that gorgeous beach before I leave?
Then, having what I need, I convince myself it’s time to go. But the bags. Fuck me, the bags! They’re stunning.
I find myself pausing when I come past a limited-edition Hermès, my fingers already reaching out, but I stop myself. I couldn’t, but damn it, I want it. I took this woman’s husband, and sure, that’s going to be rough, but to take her limited-edition Hermès? Now that’s just crossing the line. Besides, what would I even do with it? Chuck it in my closet with the rest of my crap?
No, it belongs here in this climate-controlled walk-in where it can be displayed like the shining star that it is. I can’t take such a beauty away from its home like that, not when I won’t give it the life it deserves. But I can sure as hell give it a quick sniff. Besides, with my career, there have been times when I have had to escape at a moment’s notice and leave my life behind, which is part of the reason why I don’t allow myself such luxuries. I couldn’t bear to leave them behind, but I’d have no choice. The only thing I’ve ever risked going back for is the absolute love of my life, Spikezilla.
Fuck, I love that cactus.
Leaning into the beautiful Hermès bag, I sink to my lowest of lows and take a deep breath, breathing in the rich leather and desperately wishing that I could run my fingers across it if only for a moment. My knees go weak, and my thighs clench as a heavy pulse thrums deep in my core.
Wait. Am I about to come?
What the fuck is wrong with me?
Pulling back from the bag, I try to remember who the fuck I am. I shouldn’t be in this woman’s closet. I’m a goddamn assassin, for fuck’s sake. I should already be on a jet getting as far away from the crime scene as I can, yet here I am sniffing her bags and spontaneously combusting.