The Player (Chicago Bratva #8) Read Online Renee Rose

Categories Genre: Contemporary, Erotic, Mafia, Romance Tags Authors: Series: Chicago Bratva Series by Renee Rose
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Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63758 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 255(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
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“I’m on my way,” Flynn says.

“Where is it?” I shout. I’m already at the elevator, banging the button to go down. Kat’s right behind me, and Story chases us both because I still have her phone.

“At Rue’s. She’s at Rue’s. I’m close. I’ll be there in fifteen.”

We get on the elevator. “I’m on my way.” I thrust the phone at Story just as the doors close.

CHAPTER 16

Nadia

I pace in the parking lot of Rue’s. I took an Uber here. It’s funny how helpless I was a month ago, and now I’m suddenly capable of anything. Leaving the apartment alone. Getting an Uber.

Even murder.

I have on my warm woolen jacket with the gun tucked in a pocket.

I would go inside, but I don’t know how to explain to Danica that I’m here but not to perform. I also don’t want to do the murdering inside Rue’s. The parking lot is far more ideal, not that I have any experience with these things.

I did choose Adrian’s gun with a silencer attached. I don’t want to call any attention to my crime.

Of course, I don’t even know if the guy will return this week.

I am sure it was him, though. One hundred percent sure.

It’s freezing out–technically below freezing–but I don’t mind the cold. I actually welcome the bite of wind across my cheeks.

A couple walks through the parking lot to the front of the building. Then a car pulls into the parking lot, and I watch to see who gets out.

My stomach drops. Gospodi, it’s him.

He came back. He’s here.

I grip the gun tightly in my pocket and stride forward, right up to him. He lifts his head to see who’s coming.

I don’t know why I’m pissed that he doesn’t recognize me.

I hold out the gun with my arm straight out in front of me and point it at his head. “Open your fucking mouth.”

I already hear the clang of chains. The banging of metal cots against the walls. I catch his nasty cigar scent. A panic attack is coming on, but I can get through this. I can shoot him before it hits. All I have to do is pull the trigger.

And then he smiles.

I hadn’t remembered that smile until this moment. It’s pure evil. It was his expression of delight in delivering pain. He’s happy to see me now, even at the business end of a pistol.

“Nadia.” He sounds delighted. Like we’re old friends meeting on the sidewalk.

That voice! That fucking voice.

I blink hard, but I’m blacking out. I’m going to fall to the ground. Am I already falling?

Is the ground tilting up to catch me?

I can’t move. Every part of my body feels leaden.

I try to pull the trigger, but nothing happens. Vaguely, some part of my brain registers that there was a safety, and I didn’t remove it first. But it’s too late because the mudak snatches the pistol from my frozen fingers and uses it to clap me in the temple.

That’s when I understand I hadn’t fallen before. I couldn’t have. Because the ground rushes up now to meet my face with such intensity that I’m sure I break my nose.

I can’t breathe. Not even the tiniest bit. I can’t scream. I can’t fight back as I’m dragged behind the mudak’s car and then lifted into the trunk.

And then I see something that flips a switch. Brings me back to life like smelling salts. Or defibrillator paddles.

It’s Flynn.

He’s running up behind cigar man.

I kick, and the heel of my boot hits cigar man square in the chest. It’s not enough to do any damage, but it prevents him from shutting the trunk door on me and gives Flynn time to attack.

Flynn tackles him to the ground, punching his face repeatedly.

Unintelligible zombie sounds come from my lips, but at least I’m breathing. At least I can move. My temple throbs as I climb out of the trunk. The road rash on my face smarts and burns like hell.

Cigar man reaches in his pocket and produces Adrian’s gun. Flynn doesn’t see it.

“Nyet!” I lunge across his chest to stomp on his wrist.

Flynn wrestles the pistol out of his closed fingers, while cigar man tries to take the safety off.

“Give it to me.” My voice shakes with rage.

Flynn hands me the pistol and punches the guy's bloodied face again. His jowls jiggle with the impact. Blood seeps from the corners of his mouth.

I figure out how to take the safety off and put my finger on the trigger. I point the gun right in the middle of the guy's forehead.

But I can't breathe. I can't move. Another attack has me firmly in its jaws.

Doesn't my body know that this will set me free? It should be helping me, not hindering.

Flynn looks over his shoulder when he hears me sucking air.

With that same remarkable calm he always brings, Flynn stands.


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