Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67039 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
“As lovely as ever, Ms. Violet,” Z says, coming to his feet. Ronan stands but doesn’t utter a word.
“Violet.” I give her a curt nod.
“You’re getting married tomorrow—”
“Don’t offer him a dance or room.” Z’s hand comes down on my shoulder.
“I would never.” Violet shakes her head. “If I know anything, it’s men, and War has no interest in that.”
"I am interested in the man you alerted me to." Violet never directly reaches out to me except on rare occasions. That means that whoever this client is she is having an issue with has power of some kind.
I hadn't bothered to ask too many details over the phone because I knew I would be coming down here myself. It is getting me out of the house and away from Tova.
That way I don’t pounce on her like a rabid animal that has no control. How am I going to be able to manage when she’s in my bed every night? The thought has my cock starting to harden for the first time since I entered this place. Go fucking figure.
“He’s a cop. Not one of ours.”
“A cop?” Z echoes my thoughts. “How does a cop afford this place?”
“Trust fund kid.”
“I want to know how he got in here.”
“I already sent you his file details.” Violet nods her head for us to follow her to the back of the club. “He’s pretty new and had an incident a month ago with one of my girls. He’s rough, but I’m starting to see that he doesn’t want to have one of the girls that is trained for such a thing. I think he gets off on them being inexperienced.”
“He wants to see fear in their eyes.” That's what he's after.
"He's got a real thing for power and control."
As do I, but I'm not beating the shit out of women. No. Instead I'm going to enjoy beating the shit out of him. Cop or not, he needs to know there’s a line you don’t cross. I won’t tolerate this sort of disrespect to either the women here or to my family.
Violet enters the code for the basement door. The lock clicking over is loud and heavy.
"Allow me." Ronan grabs the door to open it. It's as thick as a vault door. Nothing escapes this room unless I allow it. Not even screams.
"I’ll leave you boys to it." Violet steps back. "I already know the answer, but as always, let me know if I can get you some entertainment when you're done." I don't hear my brothers’ responses. I'm already descending the stairs.
The man lifts his head when he hears me come in. I almost want to laugh. They have him tied to a chair with fuzzy pink handcuffs. He blinks a few times before his eyes widen with fear. The stench of ammonia fills the air.
“Aww, man,” Z mutters, coming to stand next to me. “He already pissed himself.” It’s not surprising. Men like him do it all the time. They’re only tough when pushing weaker individuals around. At the first sign of real trouble, they either try to buy or beg their way out.
That’s what he’s already doing. Sobbing and pleading. I’m sure the women he beats on do the same. I also bet the people he comes into contact with during his job do as well.
“Violet always does know what a man needs.” Ronan runs his hands across the tools laid out on the table.
“I’m only here for the show.” Z grabs one of the chairs in the corner, dropping down into it. “First time I have ever said that here.”
“Wait, what, what are you going to do to me?” the man in the chair stammers.
“Don’t speak.” I backhand him, snapping his head back. He lets out a yelp.
“He’s fucking loud.” Ronan picks up a hammer, tosses it in the air, and catches it by the wooden handle. He can turn anything into a weapon and use it like it’s a part of him.
“We’ve only just started.” I grab him by the hair and yank backwards, taking the chair with it so it's on two legs, and pull them both across the room. He screams the whole way.
“I’m sorry.” He sobs.
“Did she cry? Plead?” He doesn’t respond, but I’m not really wanting an answer. “Tape,” I tell Ronan. He grabs the duct tape off the table, tossing it to me. I pull a piece off and slap it across his mouth. I can’t listen to his high-pitched cries.
“Since we’re all here, should we talk about why our brother is in such a pissy mood lately?” Z asks, putting his hands behind his head, getting comfortable. "And don't say it's about getting married. It's about who should not be named."
"You mean the one we never talk about." All my attention swings back to my brothers. I stare at them for a long second, neither of them saying another word.