Page 7 of Niccolaio Andretti (The Five Syndicates)
With a killer body, a light smattering of freckles on the bridge of her nose, and a cocky gleam in her eyes, she looks like an eclectic mix between the Queen Bee and the Girl Next Door. Like she won’t hesitate to tear your heart out and feed it to a homeless puppy, because he’s starving, she feels bad, and she doesn’t like you.
She also looks like Dex’s type. Any man’s type, even, but especially his. Dex is a thirty-years-old, self-made tech millionaire. He’s a blue blood through and through, but the money he’s made is one hundred percent his own and a byproduct of his technological prowess.
Dex hooked me up with my untraceable home network and surveillance system. He’s an average looking guy but an absolute animal when it comes to women, cycling through them quickly, sometimes even multiple times in a day.
I have no doubt that this is one of those girls, though for some reason, she’s acting like she’s staying around here for much longer. I’m tempted to uncross and re-cross my arms, using my strong build to daunt her, but I figure there’s such a thing as too much intimidation. I wouldn’t want her to go running off to the damn cops.
She opens her mouth to say something, but after a moment, she closes it again, huffs, and walks away from me. I try not to watch her retreat, but I can’t help myself. She has a nice ass, and it’s been a while since I’ve had the opportunity to check out a woman.
But when I turn in the direction of Dex’s house, she’s not there.
I swivel back, surprised when I see her quietly entering John’s brownstone. He doesn’t have a family. He doesn’t have a wife. He doesn’t have a daughter. So why the fuck is she doing her walk of shame to a man almost three times her age?
And why the fuck is it bothering me?
Chapter Four
Don’t get the impression
that you arouse my anger.
You see, one can only be
angry with those he
respects.
Richard M. Nixon
I want to kill that jerk, but the time it will take to do that equates to less time with Mina. I get two hours with her on Saturdays at her state run group home.
That’s it.
Two hours a week.
Eight-point-six hours a month.
One hundred and four hours a year.
That’s less than the amount of hours the average person sleeps in two weeks.
The sobering thought only strengthens my resolve to land John. And with that in mind, I swallow down my angry retort and push my way past John’s nuisance of a neighbor. Only when I’m past the red brick of the outside steps and through the mahogany doors do I allow myself to take a calming breath.
Rolling my eyes at my attire, I strip myself of everything and grab the button down John wore yesterday from the couch. I shrug myself into it, buttoning only one button above my belly button and leaving the rest of my toned body on display. I learned weeks ago about this particular preference of his, and I’ve been greeting him in his button downs ever since.
I’m nothing if not adaptive.
I order breakfast delivered, paying for it with the black AmEx card John gave me last week. Slamming the door on the delivery kid’s face when he gapes at the sight of me in John’s button down, I roll my eyes and carry the bag into the kitchen.
I plate the food onto John’s fancy dinnerware, so it looks like I made it. After throwing the empty delivery bag into the trash bin with a bunch of napkins tossed over it for some extra camouflage, I make my way to his bedroom, a convincing smile plastered all over my face.
“Hey, sleepyhead.” I wink at him when he groans.
I watch patiently as he makes a show of waking, struggling to lift himself out of the sheets. I can’t help but compare John to his jerk of a next door neighbor, which is how I know I’ve gone insane.
Nevertheless, I note that John is flabby where his neighbor is hard—which is everywhere. His hands, his stomach, his arms, his face, and even his legs. Something about seeing John, a man I’m sleeping with out of necessity, after seeing his neighbor, a man I’m so attracted to that it’s made me momentarily stupid, is so disheartening.
It makes me wonder if this is the life I’ll forever be trapped in.
