Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Holding her hands up, the asshole does all she can to hide her smile, but she can’t quite do it. “What? It’s not like we haven’t done this before.”
My eyes slide over to her, my expression caught somewhere between you have lost your fucking mind and I will beat your ass, woman. “Yeah. Only those other times? I was fucking prepared and so were they.”
She slides back into her chair, leaning her head back and sighing. Eyes closed, she mutters a distant, “Jesus, you’re hot when you’re pissed.”
And all I can do is look heavenward and pray.
Dear Lord, Jesus, I’m a patient man, but I’m no fucking saint.
Giving myself a moment to calm down, I drive in silence. A short while up the road, Ling asks, “Wanna fuck?”
Sometimes, I wonder about this woman.
Turning slowly, I remove my sunglasses. My glare shouts that she’s pushing her luck. Her practiced wide-eyed innocence makes my blood curdle. I continue to glare as she bursts into laughter, then states, “It was a joke!”
I face the road, and mumble, “Ha-ha, motherfucker.”
Her dainty hand invades my space. It rubs at my shoulder. “Oh, c’mon. It was a joke. I’m joking. Totally joking.” Her hand stills and she admits, “Unless you’re into it.” Anger bubbles in my gut, as she concedes laughingly, “Kidding!”
I gotta admit. I like Ling. When Twitch had her, I thought she was crazy. In fact, more than once, I told him to get rid of her. Now, I’m not saying she’s not crazy, but she’s not a bad person. In the four years we’ve shared together, a friendship grew. One night after a bender, a drunken Ling admitted that I was her first friend, and she didn’t know what to do with that. My unwillingness to have sex with her somehow won me her respect. Knowing I had brought a part out of her that other people rarely saw… it was pleasant. No one else got to see Ling the comedian or Ling the caring. Other people got to see Ling the bitch and, more frequently, Ling the ho.
But she likes it that way. That is her protective cover. Her security blanket.
There is so much more to Ling than meets the eye. Four years later, and I still don’t know her. She has layers, and even with those I’ve peeled away, I’m not even close to the center. Hell, I’ve barely skimmed the surface.
“Why don’t you want to fuck me? You know it wouldn’t affect our work. Lots of men think I’m beautiful.” Although the question sounds vain, she looks at me thoughtfully.
“You are beautiful.” I spare her a glance. “I think snakes are beautiful, too. Doesn’t mean I want one sucking my dick.”
Her small hand hitting my shoulder pulls a smile from me. “You’re a jerk.” But I hear the smile in her voice. “You want the rest of the file, or you just want to wing it?”
“Give it to me.”
She reads to herself, then murmurs, “Oh, and the plot thickens.”
Great. I don’t bother sugarcoating my frustration. “You wanna share? Maybe sometime this year?”
“The dead guy, Raul Mendoza, was Alejandra Castillo’s high school sweetheart. And get this… he married Alejandra’s younger sister, Veronica. Dino Gambino is the accused murderer.”
My brows rise. What kind of shit-storm am I walking into? “Alejandra and Raul were having an affair?”
Ling shakes her head. “Not according to this. Alejandra is the model wife and is loyal to her husband. She loves Dino. They’re, according to sources, happily married.”
I think a short while, before asking her, “And what do you think?”
Without hesitation, Ling responds, “I think the way to the truth is through the wife.”
Bingo.
I smile to myself while wondering how I’m going to make this wife betray her husband.
An hour of driving and we arrive at our destination. We pull up to the residence of Eduardo Castillo. Approaching the intercom, I press the button, and announce, “Julius Carter and Ling Nguyen, as requested by Miguel Castillo.”
The buzzer clicks over before the wide cast-iron gates slowly open. Slowly, I make my way down the gravel drive, spying perfectly shaped hedges and artful statues lining the entrance. The mansion looks every bit as I imagined. The exterior demands attention, and without even looking inside, I would say the interior will be just as demanding.
As I approach the entrance, a well-dressed man wearing glasses, an earpiece and a black suit jacket with a golden cursive C on the pocket advances to the car. Opening the door, he holds out his hand. I step out of the vehicle and hand him the keys, and walking around the car, I open the door for Ling and escort her out. We walk up the steps to be greeted by a man close to my age. His features are hard beyond his years. Tall and built, his brown eyes wander over Ling. His eyes flash. He runs a hand through his messy black hair. Holding out a hand, we shake as he introduces himself. “Mr. Carter. I am Miguel Castillo. Thank you for coming. I did not know you would be bringing a”—his eyes rest on Ling’s full lips—“a guest.”