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Still not a month!
Our first encounter ended with me hot and bothered.
Our first date, I wouldn’t wish on my worst of enemies.
That is until the ruthless beast tempted me with a side of him I never saw.
His name is Victor Tudor. My darkly attractive tormentor. He’s left me broken. I conceded to second chances, and he twisted me again. Now, I’m standing before a man without a redeeming quality, who tastes like power, sin, and an unbreakable addiction.
I don’t know Victor Tudor.
How could I have given my heart away to a stranger?
Dejected, I mumble, “Victor, why didn’t you just kill my father? Carry on with the next mission, huh?”
At this precise moment, God releases the doubt bottled in my soul and places my sorrow on Victor. He heaves a ragged sigh. “I met youfirst, Luxury. I bloody told you. I met . . . you, Little One.”
“If we hadn’t met.” I plead with him, stopping short of going to him as I croak out, “No more Dad? I got lucky? You saved me, Victor Tudor. How much? Oh, my God, five hundred thousand pounds.” Hands clamor over my mouth. “That’s what you were arguing about.”
His head dips, then he gives a swift nod.
“Dr. Jonah Whitson was worth five hundred thousand pounds?”
“That’s irrelevant!”
“Say it. Please say that a human’s life was worth . . .” I prompt, wrenching the lapel of his suit beneath my fingers.
Jaw unmalleable, Victor grits, “It’s a five hundred-thousand-pound assignment. Nothing more.”
“Assignment?”My eyes look out toward the authoritative person seated right outside the door. “An assignment because you’ve got the riches of Solomon, and your wealth bores you.”
“That’s not it,” he grouses.
“You got bored, saw me, and thought, ‘Hmmm, I’ll have more fun dodging bullets instead of sitting like acowardbehind a sniper rifle.’ Did you spend all the money on Bobby George’s team?”
“You’re spouting rubbish, Luxury. I hired George’s team as a precautionary measure.”
“Awe, man, I was working my brain.” I hold my hands up as if moving the gears in my mind. “Imagining the sick, deviant charms of having more assassins to fight instead of murdering one, short, genius of a man. How does one’s life become an assignment? How does—”
“Luxury, please listen.” Victor clasps my hands, bringing them to his lips. My body reacts, heart falling prey to an accelerated tempo. Sharp tingles draw over my flesh—every fiber of my being’s traitor to sagacity. I yank my hand away, snaking my fingers underneath into tiny fists at my side.
“No, there’s nothing you can say. So, thank you.” I call upon the last atom of self-preservation inside of me. The apathy I sought after Momma’s death takes over me, smoothing out my features.
“Thank you for sparing my father. Detective Caruso’s heard of Bobby...whatever. Bobby’s legit, the only friggen truth between us. The guy last night, who took down two assassins, that’sokayin my book. They can stay and keep my father safe. You can kick rocks. I hate you, Victor Tudor.” I spit those words out like fire and swipe the last fallen tear.
“Please, I care so much about you, Lux.” His sapphire eyes tug at my heartstrings.
Care. The wrong motherfucking four-letter word.
“Farewell.” I step closer to my dad’s bed.
“Luxury, if only you understood.”
Hurt swells in my soul as I mumble, “I’m all out of chances, Vic. I will never call you, see you, or talk to you. You’llneverbe forgiven in my book.”
Victor pauses at the door, placing the side of his fist against the frame. “When you’re ready, Luxury, ring me. Bloody curse me, just call. Iwillanswer any time of the day.”
“I never will.” I shake my head.
