Total pages in book: 12
Estimated words: 10546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 53(@200wpm)___ 42(@250wpm)___ 35(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 10546 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 53(@200wpm)___ 42(@250wpm)___ 35(@300wpm)
I closed the folder. “Surprised you’re not dealing with this yourself,” I remarked.
Alfonzo shook his head. “Maksim texted me saying his shoulder is bothering him. Wanted pain meds, but I’m forcing him to take the rest of the day off, and you know how fucking stubborn he is about not working.” He rolled his eyes, but there was fondness as he spoke of his husband. “He’ll need me to keep him settled.”
I stepped back. “I’ll have confirmation of a kill before morning.”
Alfonzo nodded. “Good man.” With that, he clapped my shoulder and headed up the hall, calling, “Mouse, time to stop working for the day.” I laughed softly and headed further down the hall to my room, which was more like a studio apartment. It had a small kitchenette, a full-size fridge, microwave, coffee maker, couch, bed, TV—all the necessities needed in a studio apartment.
Rico was a dick, but he took care of all of us. And because of that, we respected the fuck out of him… and feared him just a bit—but a healthy amount.
I grabbed a hoodie and a beanie, then headed toward the garage to grab the black Maserati I’d been issued after becoming Maksim’s personal bodyguard.
I had a man to kill, and once I got back home, I had a doctor to spy on since I’d have the rest of my night free. Opening the folder, I noted the address, then headed for it. My guess was the man would be at home, and if not, I’d start wandering around the area until I spotted him. And I would spot him because I, Drew fucking Rollins, always found my target.
2
Nicholas
Iswitched on the light in my office, damn near jumping out of my skin when I spotted Drew in the dark, rifling through my cabinet of bandages and first aid ointments and sprays. He turned to look at me as if he was doing nothing wrong, and I scowled. “You damn near gave me a fucking heart attack,” I snapped. “What are you doing in here in the fucking dark, boy?”
At almost ten years younger than me, Drew was everything I might have wanted back in my twenties when I was a doctor back in San Diego. But now, I just wanted peace. And Drew would disrupt that. So, I looked my fill of him when I could—discreetly—but I never let on that I wanted him. My hand worked just fine, as did my imagination. Besides, an attachment to a man like Drew was just asking for trouble. His hands were metaphorically bloody, and he slept like a baby at night despite what he did for this family. A man like that wasn’t a fit for a doctor like me. I was meant to heal people.
Drew turned his whole body to face me then and held up his hands, showing me his knuckles. They were battered and bloody, the skin split open. He was dripping blood all over my floor, and he’d smeared blood on my cabinet.
I sighed, already dreading the disinfecting I’d have to do now that he’d gotten blood everywhere. “Why didn’t you call me?” I demanded. “Sit down somewhere and I’ll take care of you.”
Without a word, Drew lifted himself onto the hospital gurney, his bloodied hands staining the white sheets, but I knew the cleaner Rico hired specifically to deal with blood spills would get it out and make it pristine and brand new once again. Shaking my head, I quickly grabbed what I needed, then dropped it onto the mattress beside him. After laying out a towel, I pointed and instructed, “Lay your hands flat, and do not move them.”
“Sir, yes, sir,” he muttered, placing his red-stained hands flat on the towel over his lap. I quickly set to work cleaning the wounds with alcohol. He didn’t flinch or hiss, even though I knew it had to burn like a bitch. He just sat still and quiet, watching me as I worked.
Drew had a way of taking in everything that made me feel… open. Like he could see past all my defenses to the shit I hid from the world. My life had never been hard. I’d grown up privileged. Money wasn’t really a concern of mine. But being born to wealthy parents who had an image to uphold meant remaining in the closet, never getting to be who I truly was.
Nothing could tarnish their perfect reputation, especially not my gayness. I was meant to marry a woman from another wealthy family, one who could benefit their business in the long run. But then, I’d gone and gotten wrongly fired for malpractice, and they hadn’t cared about anything I had to say. They only cared about my name and face getting splashed all over their news, which meant they got dragged into it as well, even though they had nothing to do with what’d happened.