Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 54283 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 271(@200wpm)___ 217(@250wpm)___ 181(@300wpm)
The last thing I need is Nolan Sullivan in my business, throwing a wrench into the works. The man isn't even in the cocaine business. He owns a goddamn high-end nightclub he uses to distribute the ecstasy his people funnel through the city. The prick only wants my ships so I can't have them.
"I'll look into it, Naz," Nicolas promises. "But you've ignored his meddling so far. Perhaps it's time for a more direct approach, no? Remind him who he messes with."
"Are you telling me how to run things?" I ask, my voice cold. He may be my oldest friend, but no one tells me what the fuck to do. Not even him.
"No." He holds up his hands in a placating gesture. "Of course not, Naz. I merely mean…our people call you Dios de la Guerra, the god of war, for a reason." A sly smile flashes across his face. "Perhaps it is time for Sullivan to learn exactly what that means, no?"
The god of war. Cristo. I'm fairly certain Nicolas is the one who gave me that particular name. I'm not sure what infuriates me more. The fact that it stuck…or the fact that it isn't far from the truth.
I haven't known peace since…actually, I don't think I've ever known peace. I was born in war. Rojas and my father were battling it out before I was even born. And I've been at war with that prick ever since. He isn't the only one. I have more enemies than I can count. And I've killed more than I remember.
Peace? It's a pipe dream not meant for motherfuckers like me.
"You can go now," I mutter wearily. "Find out exactly who the fuck is spying for Sullivan, Nicolas. I want the prick on his knees in front of me."
"Of course, príncipe." Nicolas dips his head. "I meant no disrespect."
I don't respond. He never means any disrespect, but he skirts the line anyway. He's old school, old guard. And he still remembers when I was a teenager, trying to wear this crown and bury my mother at the same damn time. It wasn't pretty. Nothing I do ever is.
He's right, though. It is time for a more direct approach. It's been time for a while.
I wait for my office door to click closed behind him before pulling open my desk drawer and reaching inside. I grab the photo on top, lifting it out. My gaze runs over the image.
"Brynna Sullivan," I murmur, eyes locked on the girl staring up at me. She's gorgeous in a way that's unsettling. Long red hair frames an angelic, heart-shaped face. Her skin is so translucent I can trace the veins beneath. Ample curves have my hands itching to know what they feel like beneath my fingers.
It's those fucking eyes that really get me, though. They're the clearest green I've ever seen, staring right out of the image and into my fucking soul.
In the photo, she's fresh-faced. Innocent. There's a fascinating purity to her, like the harshness of our world hasn't touched her. It's bullshit, though. In this world, no one is truly innocent. We've all got blood on our hands. We're all guilty.
Her father certainly is. His list of crimes is as long as my own.
And if he wants to fuck with my business, there's a price to pay. His family. Specifically, his pretty little daughter.
The only thing in this world he gives a shit about are his kids. It's a well-known fact that he dotes on her and her older brother, Niall. They want for nothing, lack nothing, and are threatened by nothing.
Until now.
If he wants war, so be it. I'll fight…but I'm not fighting fair. He took something that belonged to me. I'm taking something that belongs to him.
Who knows? I may even let him have her back when I'm done.
I stroke my thumb down the photo, my cock throbbing in anticipation.
Or maybe I won't.
Chapter Two
Brynna
Iclose my eyes and inhale deeply as my fingers dance over cracked leather spines. The smell of old ink and musty, yellowed paper hovers in the air around me, bringing an instant smile to my face.
I could live in here and not regret a single second of it.
"Brynna, are you even listening to me?" My older brother, Niall, clearly isn't on the same page as me. His disgruntled question rips me right out of my happy bubble, plunking me down in cold, hard reality.
I prefer the happy bubble.
"Nope," I say cheerfully, just to rile him up. "Didn't hear a word."
In actuality, I heard everything he said. I was just trying to pretend the nonsense he's spouting about a charity gala is someone else's reality instead of my own. I'd much prefer to stay right here all day, thank you very much.
"Dammit," he growls. "Can you please be serious? This is important."