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)
I hope.
Trying to put the parking situation to the back of my mind, I head toward the elevator while thinking of exactly what I’m going to post on my travel blog. I looked over my pictures on the plane, and I’m pretty happy with them. They need just a touch of editing before they can be posted, but there’s more than enough images to claim I was there for a two-week vacation, and with a little creative writing, I could sell it easier than the black market sells me beautiful blades. Nobody would ever know I was there for only three hours and managed to slaughter their dirtiest politician while I was at it. All they’ll see is a young woman living her best life and posing for the camera.
Reaching the third level, I step out of the elevator and stride down the corridor. My eyes immediately zone in on the two movers carrying furniture directly into the apartment next to mine.
Well, shit.
I’m getting a new neighbor, meaning the car currently parked halfway over my space isn’t temporary at all. It’s a permanent fixture, but if he thinks he’s going to be parking like that every day, he’s about to learn one hell of a lesson about being a considerate neighbor. And yes, I’m assuming it’s a guy, because only a man could possibly park with that much arrogance.
Ugh. I already hate him.
Making my way down the corridor, I pass by the open door of apartment 305, and without a single ounce of shame or hesitation, I slow my pace and gaze straight into my neighbor’s home. The layout is exactly the same as mine, just flipped. But I knew that. I know every little detail about this building. How many floors, the layouts of each individual apartment, where the emergency exits are, and of course, I know every detail about the people who reside here. Just like Betty, my old neighbor. She lived in that very apartment for the last thirty years, right up until her children moved her out and dumped her in an old people’s home. Though I really don’t understand why. Betty was killing it in that apartment. She was loving life and more than capable of handling herself until her kids decided they knew what was best for the mom they never visited.
Fuck, it’s been weeks, and I’m still mad about it.
Peering into 305, I see nothing but the movers dumping heavy furniture on the hardwood floors, only to scratch them as they start pushing the furniture up against the wall. And despite the Audi parked in my space, I see no sign of its new owner.
Damn. If I had the energy, I’d march straight through that door and deal with the situation myself, but I suppose it can wait until tomorrow. It’s been way too long since I last slept. The flight to France was spent researching my target and pinpointing his location, and the flight back . . . Well, let’s just say turbulence is a bitch. Nobody in their right mind could sleep through that shit.
I’m beyond exhausted, and the last thing I need is to deal with my new neighbor.
Letting out a sigh, I keep my ass moving while digging into my bag to find my keys, and before I know it, I’m crashing through my door and collapsing onto my couch.
My head lolls against the backrest, and I quickly fall into a deep, much-needed sleep. Hours later, I wake up to my pitch-black apartment and the heavy, repetitive sound of the new neighbor’s headboard slamming against my wall. His deep groans reverberate against my eardrums, and my eyes go wide.
“Oh fuck. Yes, Daddy!” a woman cries. “I’ve been such a bad girl. Spank me. Spank me. YES! OH GOD, YES! HARDER!”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
Out of all the people who could have moved in next door, I get lumped with Sir Fucks A Lot and his horny girlfriend, Miss Bend Me Over And Choke Me Until I Scream.
Just my fucking luck.
***
CHAPTER 2
KIARA
Thump. Thump. Thump. Groan.
Fuck me. This is not happening.
The fuckfest next door rages on and is driving me crazy. It’s been going on for over an hour. Who needs to fuck that long? What’s wrong with a quickie in the kitchen followed by a movie with no volume? That’s the brilliance of subtitles. Hell, what’s wrong with just a little consideration for your neighbors? I mean, shit. If you want to fuck loud enough to wake the dead for over an hour, then apartment living is not for you. Go buy a property where you can fuck your little heart out.
I’ve spent the past hour trying to ignore it, but let’s be honest, my ability to focus isn’t great. I’ve attempted to pull my laptop out and work on my blog, and that didn’t go well, so I figured I’d take an everything shower, and by the time I was done, the fuckfest next door would be over. But nope. I’m not that lucky.