Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 19
DEANNA
Islam the copy machine’s lid down and hit the green button.
Lights flash, gears whirr, and a perfect facsimile of a spreadsheet I’ve been annotating falls into the tray.
I do it again. And again. And again. Ignoring the fact that several of my coworkers, none of whom actually speak to me, wander in and out of the office supplies closet and run away like I’m a lunatic.
Why the hell do we even have a copy machine? And a whole bank of faxes that I’ve never seen run a single time since I’ve been here?
There’s probably some nefarious and illegal reason. Like he’s selling meth via phone lines or something. Maybe the FBI can’t track faxes.
Or maybe it’s just an office with outdated machinery.
Everything feels wrong now.
All the work I’ve ever done here is tainted.
Drugs. Gambling. Blackmail.
Murder.
What else have I been a part of?
I hear motion behind me. A squirrelly older man named Jonathan lurks in the doorway, studying me curiously. I wonder how much he knows. Does he sling crack on street corners for Prime on the weekend? Is he moving numbers around to make sure the feds never find the funny books and all the crooked cash?
“Do you need something?” I snap and it comes out way harsher than I should.
“Ah, uh, the, uh, pens—“ He takes a step backwards, eyes bulging, twice-human-sized behind his thick glasses.
I grab one and toss it over. “Anything else?”
“No, no, thank you, Mrs. Spadaro.” He turns and runs off.
Guilt slams into me. Why the hell am I being a dick to that guy? Jonathan’s harmless like everyone else in this office. I don’t think any of them actually know the rotten depths of Prime’s operations. I’ve been looking at it up close for years and never really understood it until I married him and practically ripped it from his secretive chest.
There’s no reason to lash out at them.
It’s only my frustration with myself getting the better of me.
There’s more movement near the door. Probably Jonathan back for more office supplies. I turn, smiling, ready to apologize to him for being rude, but the words die in my throat.
Prime fills the doorway.
It’s a bizarre sight. Despite being the boss around here, he never lowers himself enough to come into the supply closet.
I doubt he even knew it was here.
I whirl around, cheeks burning, and punch the green button. It grinds and another copy spits out.
“Is this what you’ve been doing all morning?” His tone is playful. I instantly hate it.
“I’ve been working. You know, that thing we do around here?” I smash the button again. And again.
“Careful, wife, or you’re going to kill that copier.”
“What do you want, Prime?”
His hands clamp down on my hips. I yelp in surprise, try to twist, but he pins me forward. His body presses me to the copier, a tray digging into my thigh, his massive frame looming like a monster.
“I want you to stop avoiding me.”
“Get off, someone might see.”
“You want me to get off, do you, love? I’ll happily fuck and fill you right here and now. You think anyone would stop us? Pretty sure half the office would gladly watch.”
“Prime, stop it.”
“You’re avoiding me,” he repeats.
“Okay, yes, I’m avoiding you.”
I gasp as he tugs on my hair, pulling my head back. His mouth meets my neck. His lips nip and suck, kissing the soft skin under my chin. Desire burns into my core and I hate my traitor pussy for getting dripping wet despite how angry I am with my criminal husband.
“Is this because you found out I’m a monster?” He sounds amused like this is some big fucking game to him.
“No, but I mean, yes—“ I bite back a groan as his other hand moves around to cup my breasts. “We can’t do this here.”
“Should we go back to my office then?”
“Prime—“
“I’m not doing this all day with you, love. We need to clear the air and move on.”
I jerk back, slamming my ass into his crotch, or close enough. He grunts and releases me, giving me room to turn and face him. My heart’s ramming wildly as I lean against the copier, holding onto its edges. His hands move to my flanks, shifting around to cup my ass.
“How much of it was real?”
I snap the question off like a gunshot. It makes him pause. I shouldn’t like the surprise on his face, but at least it’s proof I can still break past his armor and pierce the heart of him.
“What do you mean?”
“My job. Everything we’ve done. How much of it was real?”
“All of it.”
“David Sorensen? That was real? Or was my part only cover for the actual deal?”
His grip on me tightens. “David’s a special case. You brought him to me before I understood what he really wanted. That was real—“
“Until it wasn’t anymore.” I blink back tears, feeling like an idiot. “God, I thought I pulled off a serious win with him, and now I’m finding out he wanted to get close to you all along. How many drugs are you moving with him, huh?”