Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 810(@200wpm)___ 648(@250wpm)___ 540(@300wpm)
It was my turn to moan. Those words were definitely the most erotic thing he’d ever said.
He wrapped my legs around his waist and rubbed the head of his cock against my arousal.
“You ready?” he asked.
“I’m ready,” I agreed. “Always.”
He sank inside of me and closed his eyes for a brief moment the way he always did when he entered me. I loved that expression, and I knew I would never get enough of it.
“You good?” he asked as he rolled his hips inside of me.
“So good,” I murmured.
He leaned down and kissed me, and there was nothing frenzied about us anymore. It was unhurried and gentle. Ryland wanted to draw it out as long as he could, and I was grateful he had. I never wanted to forget this moment for all of my life.
“I’m going to come inside you, baby,” he declared. “Come inside my fucking wife.”
And with a roar, he did.
Then he leaned down and kissed me with a possessive gleam in his eyes. “Mine.”
Chapter Thirty-Three
Ryland
Brighton and I had been home for a little over a week. The amount of work on my desk was beyond fucking ridiculous, and I knew I’d be waist deep in it for the next two days. But the moment my email pinged from the PI in Chicago, everything else fell by the wayside. Images of Brayden filled my screen, and every vile and uncouth word I’d ever learned spewed from my mouth.
You might wonder why I hated him so much. Besides the obvious- he’d held a gun to my head and allowed my sister to die mercilessly- the boy was nothing more than a cockroach. Back in my scheming days, Brighton wasn’t the only subject of my research. If you’d ever read the Art of War or any stratagem books for that matter, there was one very important principle you should have reaped. Know your opponent. Simple, really. Much simpler when you have the resources to fund such ventures and grease a few palms along the way. For my plan to work, I had to be well versed on the inner workings of the entire Gallo circle. Brayden included.
What I’d unraveled about him in my research was nothing short of what I’d expect of Frankie’s son. Calling into question the whole nature versus nurture debacle, it seemed nature had won out in these circumstances. I’d venture a guess that Brighton had been kept in the dark on a few things concerning her brother. It certainly wasn’t my place to tell her. As much as I liked to skew the cards in my favor, I wouldn’t do it that way.
Brayden had a penchant for taking things which didn’t belong to him. After a spate of break-ins and small time robberies in his neighborhood, the police brought him in for questioning at the tender age of ten. It doesn’t take long to conclude what Norma would’ve done in these circumstances. Calling in his absentee father to play the role of bad cop was probably what she had in mind.
She should’ve known Brayden’s proclivities would only do his father proud. Over the years he progressed to other petty crimes. Eventually even working his way up to wheeling and dealing for Alfredo’s henchmen. Curiosity had me questioning how exactly Frankie weaseled him into the fold. There was no way he’d ever admit ownership over a Mick. Or at least, he hadn’t, until he’d thrown both his children under the bus in a last ditch effort to save himself.
Either way, Alfredo had never met him directly. No small feat, considering how selective the man was of his crew. But apparently, Frankie had some authority in the matter and grandfathered him in on his word alone. It was a decision that ended up costing him his life and left an ever present countdown on his children’s.
Had I been in Brayden’s shoes, it was difficult to imagine what I would’ve done. To his credit, he’d kept a roof over Brighton’s head for many years when Norma couldn’t possibly. But I couldn’t abide by his decisions to fall in line with his piece of shit father.
This was his second chance. An opportunity to set his head straight and pat himself on the back for lessons learned. But do you think he could manage that?
I’ll give you one craptastic guess.
He’d taken a meeting with Frankie’s wife, which could only mean one thing. He wanted in. She was the only contact he had for Frankie’s boss Alfredo. And he hadn’t a fucking clue of the hive he was about to disrupt.
While Maria Gallo had given a first class performance on playing the grieving widow, in truth she hated Frankie’s guts. She was glad to see him dead and would be equally delighted to see his bastard spawn dead too.
But just like everyone else in this world, she had a price. She was another name on my long list of yearly installments. Her careless indifference on this matter was bought and paid for to the tune of a hundred grand thus far. And while she might have been a money hungry scab, she wasn’t stupid. Maria knew when to keep her mouth shut, and when to talk.