Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91423 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 457(@200wpm)___ 366(@250wpm)___ 305(@300wpm)
Wrong of me, perhaps, to hear my brother’s declaration of love wrecking some part of Ella’s sense of self and forcing her to recalibrate her understanding of where she is in the world, then use that goodness to tame evil, but I use all resources at my disposal.
I said once that I could not get rid of Eric because he ran too many things, and had too much influence. That was true. It was also before I hired a team of forensic accountants to tell me precisely where he was vulnerable, where he was over-leveraged, and where he could be shorted. That took care of most of the threat, but it wasn’t entirely dealt with.
Even with most of his controlling interests now out from under him, he does still have friends. That’s why I want him alive enough to be able to give directions from time to time, but to enjoy his twisted, dark, and frankly probably almost entirely subconscious desire to be commanded.
“You’re an absolute fucker,” he says. “Well played, old man, well played indeed.”
“Thank you,” I say, inclining my head. I toy with the notion of making him get on his knees, but decide against it. It’s too overtly carnal. I don’t want my owned boy getting the wrong idea. I definitely wouldn’t like him knowing I think of him as an owned boy.
“Time to meet your bride to be,” I say.
He sighs. “You have her here already? Of course you do. You’re a monster, Mr. Levin, a complete and utter creature.”
I take that as the compliment it is meant as. He has all but given up on himself. Before I walked into this room, he thought of me as prey. Now he has been reminded that I will never, ever be the object of a hunt for long.
I go to the door and open it.
“Elana?”
A woman strides into the room. Tall, statuesque, curvy. She has crimson lips, raven black hair, and bright blue eyes. She is wearing a simple blue dress made sinful by her curves. Black leather boots run up under it.
Eric shivers and stands up a little too slowly for her liking. I see the curl of her upper lip at the same time he does. He leaps up, but it is too late.
“This is to be my wife?” His voice is eager.
“This is to be my husband?” She asks the question at practically the same time, however her tone is louder, her voice harsher, and her bearing far more dominant.
“This is Eric the Red,” I tell her. “This is the man you’ve agreed to take in marriage.”
She looks him up and down. “You look better standing,” she says in a tone that suggests he looks generally awful. I could spend a lifetime watching Eric be roasted by his wife to be.
“Take me shopping,” she says. “Now.”
“Yes, ma’am,” he says.
“Thank you,” Eric mouths to me.
I have to hold back a smile. I have broken this man in a thousand different ways, and because he is about to live out dominant Mommy fantasies he did not know he had, he could not be more grateful.
I leave England in triumph. I almost wish the others were there to experience the moment. They’ll have to trust me when I tell them the good news.
I return to the bunker less than six hours later, where I find my family waiting for me. Ella throws herself into my arms immediately, apparently thrilled to see me. I remember once when she knelt for me and crawled for me. This is better. This is a true expression of deep affection.
“You left,” she sniffs, disapproving.
“Yes, baby. I left,” I say, wrapping her in my arms and embracing her tightly. “But I am back now, and we never have to worry about Mr. Red again.”
“Did you kill him?”
“He has been neutralized,” I say. “It’s taken care of. We can return home safely.”
She grins broadly. Leo comes out of his bedroom about then, and starts making suggestions that sound more like demands. The fact that I have been overseas dealing with an existential threat barely seems to come into it.
“I want a new house for Ella,” Leo says. “I want a new start for all of us. I think there should be a wing for her and the babies, when they come, and private wings for the three of us.”
“You’ve put some thought into this.”
“I had the plans drafted,” he says. “Thought is for dreamers.”
Just as I am about to agree, the little dog, Ethel, wakes up from a nap and howls at the top of its lungs. The sound makes my blood go cold.
“Where did the dog come from?”
Ella looks guilty.
“Ella. Where did the dog come from?”
“I got her delivered,” she says.
“When?”
“Does it matter?” Her face is a perfect mask of guilt.
“Yes, baby. It matters.” I speak softly. “Before, or after I left?”