Page 57 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
“You’re not going anywhere.”
“Ha. Ha. Funny,” I say, brushing past him.
“He saw your face.”
“He’s dead.”
“He had a getaway driver.”
“I didn’t see one.”
“You weren’t looking.”
“It’s not me he’s after.”
“You’re right. It’s me. And now that he’s seen you in my home, he’ll think getting to you will be getting to me. Go ahead and leave if you want, but I can’t guarantee that you’ll be alive to come back.”
“Gosh, I hate you so much right now.”
“You’re not exactly a Georgia peach yourself.”
I bite my tongue to refrain from growling. “I have somewhere to be.”
“Not my problem.”
“Are you always such a jerk?”
“Again, not my problem.”
I study his rugged face, annoyed beyond belief at him. Then, I stomp away and head to the door, which is still unarmed and unlocked.
And I leave.
Chapter Twenty-Three
At the core of all
anger is a need that is
not being fulfilled.
Marshall B. Rosenberg
I figure I’ve got maybe ten or fifteen minutes before she stomps her way back here, realizing that I wasn’t lying.
Someone was out there, watching.
And while I’m pretty damn good at my job, I can’t outrun a car on foot. So, I didn’t even bother trying.
I eye the digital clock on the microwave oven and walk to my office, ignoring Jax’s moans from downstairs. The man is impervious to everything I’ve tried.
Tape doesn’t shut him up.
The man, and I use that term loosely, can moan his way through cloth tied around his mouth, too.
And sleeping pills only keep him unconscious for so long until he’s up and fucking moaning around again. I’m also running out of liquid sedatives to inject him with, so I’m saving that for when I really need it.
I make a mental note to purchase a ball and gag set online from the BDSM shop Dex frequents.
