AllFreeNovel
Share Us
~Charlotte~
MY HEAD IS POUNDING.
It takes me several tries to fully open my eyes.
As soon as I do, the familiar surroundings flood into focus.
Not familiar in a comforting way.
Instead it’s the kind of unsettling familiarity that sparks a very dangerous warning, that tastes of foreboding and ruin.
Matthew Priest’s office.
Criminal mastermind.
The leader of the Gatekeepers.
The puppet master to so many.
And that now includes me.
His antique mahogany desk with gold leaf borders takes up half the room, most definitely a statement piece and a metaphor for his power and not a subtle one at that. Even the thick legs of the thing give way to carved clawed feet etched in more gold. Ornate frames cover the walls, but rather than containing artwork, they’re newspaper clippings and contracts of his greatest accomplishments and deals over the years.
Two high-back antique chairs sit opposite his desk on a luxurious Persian rug, the red and brown hues pulling together the mahogany furniture and the deep-red walls of the office.
There’s a portable bar in the corner to the left of his desk boasting top-shelf liquor.
It’s all too similar to Cristian Cavalno’s office, an ostentatious knock-off, really, and one example of Priest’s continuous attempts to compete with the Cavalno Syndicate.
Groaning, I force myself up from my sprawled out position on the burgundy leather couch over on the other side of the room in its seating area.
I take Matthew in, leaning against the front of his desk watching me, a dangerous cocktail of amusement and curiosity dancing in his dark-blue eyes.
His dirty-blond hair brushes the shoulders of his suit jacket, part of a navy three-piece suit. He has a portion of his hair pulled into a man-bun, perfectly coiffed as per usual with him, not a single hair out of place. He taps his feet idly as he eyes me, the vibrant-red on the bottom of his Christian Louboutin shoes flickering ominously in and out of sight with each tap.
“Fancy a drink?” he asks, holding up the martini glass in his hand.
He takes an exaggerated sip, then smirks at me pointedly.
The meaning isn’t lost on me, the significance of the martini glass, when I know he prefers top-shelf scotch.
He had his people drug me back at the bar! “You son of a bitch.”
“Watch your mouth, Charlotte,” he warns, the picture of calm. He’s too calm, in a sinister, chill-inducing way. “Don’t push me. You won’t like it if I push back.”
“Haven’t you already?”
“Are you hurt in any way? Are there marks on your body? Did my men harm a single hair on your pretty little head, beauty?”
“I hurt them,” I grind out, my eyes flashing.
He merely smiles. “I expected nothing less.”
I make a move to get off the couch, but an intense wave of light-headedness assaults me, putting me off balance and forcing me back down.
“It was a hefty dose. You’ll be feeling it for a few hours yet,” Matthew tells me.
Dammit.
