Total pages in book: 45
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 43787 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 219(@200wpm)___ 175(@250wpm)___ 146(@300wpm)
His gaze snaps to mine, still wide with shock.
I chuckle, adjusting my cut, grabbing my cigar again. “Next time, maybe don’t bring a man to a table when you don’t know where the real power sits.”
Then I turn on my heel and walk out, Mellow right behind me.
The Kings just won a war before a single battle started.
I don’t go far. After stepping outside the Dark Syndicate, I pull my phone from my pocket and dial.
The ringing barely lasts a second before Konstantin answers. His voice is rough, shaken in a way I’ve never heard before.
“You really do not waste time, do you?” he mutters.
I take a slow drag from my cigar, exhaling into the night air. “No, I don’t.” I let the silence stretch just long enough for the weight of what just happened to settle in. “We need to get something straight.”
Konstantin exhales sharply, probably dragging a hand down his blood-splattered face. “I suppose I have no choice but to listen.”
“Damn right, you don’t.” I take another hit of my cigar, rolling my shoulders to shake off the tension lingering from that meeting. “If you ever keep a single secret from me, from my club, or from my woman again, I’ll personally put the bullet between your eyes.”
There’s silence on the other end. I don’t fill it.
Finally, Konstantin chuckles. It’s humorless, empty. “I underestimated you, Chux.”
“Yeah,” I say, flicking the ash from the end of my cigar onto the pavement. “You did.”
“You just made a deal with men far more ruthless than you realize,” he warns, his voice quieter now, more measured.
I smirk, glancing back at the Dark Syndicate, where the blood of a once-powerful man is still soaking into the floorboards. “No, you’re wrong once again. They just made a deal with me.”
Another beat of silence.
Then, “I knew you were dangerous. But you, Chux…” Konstantin exhales slowly. “You’re something else entirely.”
“I’m the man keeping your granddaughter safe,” I remind him. “And I’ll do it with or without your help. You understand me?”
His voice is steady when he says, “I understand.”
I nod, satisfied. “Good.”
I hang up without another word, tucking my phone back into my pocket as I turn toward my bike.
This game isn’t over. Not by a long shot.
But now, every single piece is on my board.
CHAPTER 18
ALAINA
THREE MONTHS LATER
The scent of sugar, butter, and fresh-brewed coffee fills the air as I move around my bakery, rolling out dough on the floured surface. The warm hum of conversation surrounds me, a stark contrast to the silence that had once made this place feel lonely. But now?
Now it’s full of life. Constantly.
The Kings have taken over my shop—not in a bad way, but in a way that makes me laugh every time one of them walks through the door, grumbling about needing a “damn sugar fix.” They come and go all morning, buying pastries in bulk, tossing cash on the counter, and making themselves at home like this place was always meant to be theirs.
Stunt leans against the register, chewing on a bear claw. “I don’t know what the fuck you put in this, but I swear to God, Ally, if you ever stop baking, I’m gonna riot.”
Riot, standing next to him, smirks. “Didn’t realize we were organizing pastry protests now.”
I laugh, shaking my head. “It’s just sugar and butter, boys. Nothing special.”
Mellow, sitting on one of the barstools near the front, raises an eyebrow. “Bullshit. I’ve had a lot of sweets in my life, and whatever comes out of that oven is damn near sinful.”
I roll my eyes but can’t help the warmth that spreads through me. I used to feel invisible in this town, hiding in my little corner of the world. But now? These men—Kings—have made it clear I’m part of their world now, too.
The bell above the door chimes, and I don’t even have to turn around to know who it is.
I feel him before I see him.
A deep, gravelly voice slides through the air like whiskey over ice.
“Hey, sweetheart.”
I turn, and there he is—Damian, standing in the middle of my shop like he owns the place. His cut is over a black T-shirt, his jeans hanging low on his hips, and those dark eyes? Locked right on me. My pulse jumps, but I play it cool, crossing my arms over my flour-covered apron. “You here for a pastry, or just to cause trouble?”
His lips quirk up, and in two strides, he’s in front of me. “Trouble. Definitely trouble.”
Before I can respond, his hands grip my waist, pulling me against him, and his mouth crashes onto mine. Heat floods through me as I sink into him, my fingers curling into his shirt. He kisses me like he owns me, like he doesn’t give a damn who’s watching. His hands slide down to my ass, gripping me tight, pressing me right up against the hard lines of his body.