Series: Penny Dee
Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 97669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97669 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 488(@200wpm)___ 391(@250wpm)___ 326(@300wpm)
I climb out of the car and walk around to the passenger side.
In the back seat, Larissa is still asleep, so I slide my arms beneath her and lift her out. Her head lolls against my shoulder, and the way she curls into me without waking does something to my chest, and I know without a doubt that I am going to find her mom and make things right.
I carry her inside and up the stairs to the guest room, where I lay her on the bed. Leonore climbs on beside her and pulls her into her arms.
“She’s going to need her Auntie Leo to be strong,” I say.
“I know. And I will be.”
I sit on the bed beside her. “The less she knows, the better.”
She gnaws at her lip. “I’m afraid,” she whispers.
That animal inside me tears me in two, hating that I can’t take this away from her.
I remove my gun and hand it to her. She looks at it, then back at me.
“Do you think I’m going to need to use this?” she asks.
“No. But it will make me feel better knowing you have it.”
She nods, and I cup her face in my hands again. “Remember the first time you pulled a gun to my head or the scalpel to my throat?” Her eyebrows crinkle slightly. “You know how to fight, my Little Raven. And you know how to draw blood. No one will hurt our family. Do you understand me?”
Something shifts in her then, that determined feral woman who won’t let anyone or anything close. But I can see her channeling it now, her own little psycho not too far from the edge.
“Yes,” she says, and her voice has a bit of gravel and bite to it. That’s my girl.
“Good. I’m going to call my sister, niece, and housekeeper, Lotti, to come over. They’ll be good company. You can trust them.”
I also want all the women I care about deeply in one place to better protect them.
I press a kiss to her lips. It’s a silent promise. I’m going to fix this.
I walk toward the door when she says my name, and I turn around.
“The moment you find Nessa, you’ll call me, yes?”
Not if I find Nessa but when. Her trust and faith are paramount.
I nod, then leave the room.
Walking down the stairs, I remove my phone from my pocket and make a call.
It’s answered on the second ring.
“I need you to find someone for me. When you find him, I need to know immediately. Because this asshole has some explaining to do.”
44
SILAS
It takes me less than an hour to find him.
He’s at Supernova, a high-end strip club where a lap dance can cost you north of seven hundred. Yes, he’s certainly loyal to Nessa.
The moment the bouncer sees me, he unclips the rope and steps aside so I can walk through.
Inside, the club throbs with bass and bodies. The low lighting glows blue from the bar’s neon lights. Everywhere you look, beautiful women in lingerie are walking around. On stage, women twirl on dance poles, and men make money rain.
I move through the crowd toward the back of the club. The VIP section is separated from the main floor by closed doors and a bouncer guarding the entrance. This one knows me by name and gives me a friendly nod. “Mr. Vescari. Welcome.”
He opens the door, and I walk into the private lounge, which is where clients enjoy the company of beautiful women in private booths while drinking glasses of expensive champagne.
In the far corner, I find Ben.
He’s slouched in a booth with a drink in his hand and a dancer on his lap, still with his hand in a sling and cast from the last time we had a friendly encounter. She’s blonde and naked, and rolling her body against him while he leans back like he’s the king of the club.
I approach the booth, and when the dancer sees me, she stops grinding. She reads my expression and quickly makes herself scarce.
Ben blinks up at me, drunk. “Hey, what the…”
I grab him by the throat and haul him out of the booth, then slam him against the wall. His eyes bulge, and his hands fly to my wrist to claw at my grip.
“What the fuck?” he chokes.
“Do you know who I am?”
I ease my grip just enough for him to breathe. Not that I want to. Slimy assholes like him are a pet peeve of mine. But dead men can’t answer questions.
“I asked you a question.”
His wild eyes find mine, and I watch the recognition hit. He knows who I am and remembers what I am capable of, and he knows he’s just landed in a world full of hurt.
“Y-yes,” he stammers.
“Good. Then you know that the next few minutes of your life are going to be determined entirely by the quality of your answers.”