Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
If he thought I was flattered, he was highly mistaken.
“How’s that for show-and-tell?” he baited before pulling away like he’d never been in my personal space to begin with.
I smiled at him. “Was that supposed to impress me? You think you’re the first guy to ever pull those lines on me? Come on, darlin’. I’m better than that. I’m not interested in sharing sad stories, Jameson. For the next few months, I’m just here to show your guests a good time. Nothing more, nothing less. If you think I’m going to fuck you, it’s going to take a hell of a lot more than your Sons of Anarchy persona to impress me. And to be completely honest, I’ve shaken the hands of men who make Jax Teller look like a Boy Scout.”
Backing away, I threw my backpack over my shoulder and gave him one last look before I turned and left.
When I reached the door of his club, I heard him shout, “Darlin’, this is far from over!”
I ignored him.
Fully aware he meant every word.
CHAPTER
SIX
LUKE
Another week, another day, another country.
This time, I was in Cuba, where true corruption lived and breathed. I knew this was Vicente Del Toro’s territory, and I was playing with fire, but I was never one to let anyone faze me. In fucked-up terms, Vicente took the cake. Word around the street was that he liked them young. He was deep into trafficking and just a motherfucker you wouldn’t want to cross.
He got off on torturing his enemies, sometimes only for shits and giggles. I’d define him as close to criminally insane as you could be. He thrived on pain to satisfy his sick sense of depravity, and that was mostly the reason I refused to do business with him. He was too much of a loose cannon.
He completely degenerated Cuba by catering to the rich. However, he was an extremely intelligent and charismatic man.
It was all a bunch of bullshit lies.
A fairy tale you told a child at night.
His motive for everything stemmed from power. He thrived on control, using it over whoever and whenever he needed to. In his eyes, everyone was beneath him.
At his mercy.
On their goddamn knees, bowing to him.
Marching in line.
Following his orders.
You betray him, and you’d pay with your life.
In my lifetime, I already paid with my soul a long time ago. With so much blood on my hands, I was surprised I could still see my skin. I drew the line at harming a child. I wouldn’t so much as touch a hair on their heads. Most knew I wasn’t to be fucked with. Not many were foolish enough to attempt it anyway.
But there was always that one motherfucker, here and there, who wanted to be top dog, and I had to set them straight.
I was the alpha.
There were no imaginary lines. I’d crossed them all. No boundaries. No second chances. No redemption.
Not for me.
Not for them.
Not for anyone.
I witnessed and participated in it all.
Somewhere along the way, I stopped allowing myself to feel. I became desensitized to it all. Now, I just did whatever I had to do, without giving it a second thought.
The most fucked-up part was I took pleasure in it. The apple never fell far from the tree, and I was no exception. You’d be surprised what the human psyche was capable of when it lost its conscience. Only the strongest survived, and I would always make it out alive.
I didn’t know darkness and evil lurked inside me until I had to murder in order to thrive in this life. The control, the power, the sins of it all were just as addicting as they were afflicting. Consuming every last part of my being.
Becoming the fucking monster I trained myself to be.
If death found me, then it was my time to go, and I’d go out guns blazing. Inflicting mental torture on my enemies was a tactic I enjoyed participating in the most.
For the past month, my men had been following the man I was about to destroy with a huge smile on my face. It was why I was in Cuba to begin with. I needed the names of the men he orchestrated to hit on for one of my warehouses in Miami, and I had yet to find the son of a bitches. Someone was coming for my territory, and I’d go down swinging if I had to.
I nodded to the guards I paid off as I made my way into the office in his home, living like the king he thought he was on a rugged cliff. There was no loyalty in this business. Money always talks, especially when you wanted them to shut the fuck up.
His glare immediately shifted from his paperwork to the box in my hands.
“How the fuck did you get in here?” he roared in a thick Cuban accent. “Javiar! Miguel!”