Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Something bangs against the door. Not hard, but enough to make me flinch. “That was my forehead,” he says. “I’m slamming my forehead against this door because I am so beyond annoyed right now. I am so fucking sick and tired of Burian getting away with all these kills and leaving a wake of destruction behind him. For once, I want to ruin his goddamn day. So please, open up, and let me help you.”
Something in his tone makes me soften. I step forward, hesitating as I reach for the knob. “Who’s Burian?”
“Dimitry. Your boss. That’s his real name.”
“Huh. I like Dimitry better.”
“Burian’s fine. Please, Ren. Open up.”
I grab the knob. My heart’s racing. Am I really doing this? It doesn’t feel like I have much of a choice. I can stand here, call his bluff, and hope he goes away. But more likely, if he’s lying about the cops, he’ll sit out there until the body in here starts to stink, then I’m really screwed.
Or he’s not lying about the cops, and he’s not kidding about trying to help me, and I really do have about seven minutes until I end up in prison.
“Shit,” I whisper sharply.
Grandpop would lose his mind if he knew what I was out here doing for him. He’d call me all sorts of things, most of which would boil down to total moron, and he wouldn’t be wrong. Grandpop’s a serious man, but a gentle one, and even though he’d never do it, I’d probably deserve a little smack upside the head for this. Well, probably worse.
Door closed, I’m screwed no matter what.
Door opened, and I have a slim chance.
“Shit,” I say again, then yank down the handle.
I jump back as a man steps inside.
My heart pounds like a marching band wants to storm up my throat as I stare at Lanzo, my mouth hanging open.
He’s big, tall, easily over six feet, with wide shoulders, athletic arms, a muscular chest. My stomach twists and my nipples stiffen from sheer confused excitement. The guy’s attractive, hot even, which is an obscene thing to notice given the situation. His eyes are crystal blue, his hair’s a deep black color and a total mess, on the shaggy side, and he needs a shave. He’s in slim jeans, running shoes, and a dark jacket, completely nondescript.
I don’t know what I was expecting, but definitely not a runway model.
His cheekbones are high. His nose is slightly crooked like it’s been broken before. His lips are full, kissably full, like the sort of lips I’d like to get lost in for a while.
He radiates this strange, intense masculinity, like he could use a single screwdriver to break down this entire building, mixed with a tinge of chaotic energy. When his gaze lands on me and his lips quirk up, I feel a thrill of pure desire and excitement run into my core.
I want this man.
I need this man.
And I’m going to scream.
It’s a very disconcerting mix of emotions.
Lanzo’s head cocks to the side. His grin gets bigger, more confident.
“Hello, Ren,” he says. “Come with me if you want to live.”
Chapter 2
Renata
“What is the matter with you?” I blurt out, arms crossed over my chest, trying to hide my stiff nipples. It’s extremely embarrassing that my body’s reacting that way, considering the corpse burrito on the floor behind me.
Lanzo bursts out laughing as he hustles past. “This the guy? Huh, you got him wrapped up, good job. A lot of people sort of panic and don’t know what to do, but this is a solid start. You watch mafia movies or something? Don’t answer that, doesn’t matter. Here, grab his ankles.” He bends over and hefts the shoulders up.
I stand there, gaping at him. “You seriously came in here quoting Terminator and now you’re just picking the body up? Will you slow down for a second?”
“No time,” he says. “Six minutes. Gotta hustle now. If you had answered right away, we could have a civilized chat, but no time for that. Help me get him up then I’ll do the carrying. You go ahead, make sure nobody’s around. We’re heading to a beat-up old Dodge right at the end of the stairs.”
“Wait, hold on.” I wave my hands at him. “I threw up. Over there on the rug. That’s my DNA, right?”
He makes a face. “I wondered what that smell was. But yep, that’s your DNA, and it won’t really matter. Unless you have a criminal history?” His eyebrows raise.
“No, but—”
“Then don’t worry about it. Cops are way less competent than you think. Grab his ankles, please.”
I finally get moving. I help Lanzo get the body up and onto his shoulder. He grunts as he stands.
“What am I supposed to do if someone’s around?” I ask, feeling another wave of panic threaten to consume me.