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Nevertheless, these people are fucking savages. No wonder Carter refuses to go public with his and Amara’s relationship. Why he treats the little florist like any other supplier whenever she does deliveries to our hotel.
“No one,” Preston repeats.
His ribs are cracked—heard that happen an hour ago. A mean bruise starts swelling on his cheek. He’s drooling and crying.
I reach the disappointing conclusion that this is over. More blows to this pathetic bag of bones will get me nowhere.
Had Carter been here, he would’ve continued. Would’ve kicked him for the heck of it.
Playing with his metaphorical food is my stepson’s thing. He smiles wide when beating someone up. Gets off on watching our unruly members beg for their lives.
A smirk stretches across my lips at the memories.
But Carter’s not here. There’s not a hint of his sandalwood cologne in the room. He’s not around to make fun of Preston’s misery.
That shuts down any hint of amusement. I suck in a long breath through my nose, inhaling the stench of Preston’s fear. Smelling this miserable accountant’s blood on my knuckles.
“You have to believe me, please,” the pathetic lowlife begs, despite my order. “I told you, Jake came from Chicago and he needed a place for his meetings. I didn’t think it would be such a big deal.”
Carter would’ve enjoyed this next part.
BAM!
A new layer of blood coats my knuckles when my fist meets Preston’s nose.
Yes, Carter would’ve definitely loved that. The sound of bone cracking. The coppery scent that follows. The miserable howls of pain. His desire for blood and inflicting pain never fails to get my cock inappropriately hard.
He belongs to Amara.
It’s the worst moment to think of either of them. I should be happy they’re together tonight and stop complaining, even in my own head. Besides, he stayed longer than he should’ve. Was late to meet her like he was late to their Valentine’s Day dinner.
Because of me.
They’re great together. But if I could only be with them—
No, I shake my head. Never.
I haven’t loved another man or woman in my life. Not even Joelle Steele, Carter’s mom. She was a good woman, like Amara. Kind and funny. Taking care of her son was the first and last good deed I’ve ever done. I just didn’t love her.
Carter, however, loves Amara. Won’t admit to it, but he does. And I, in my own way, love them both.
They deserve to be happy.
Without me.
Shut up.
“Ask Christopher, he’ll vouch for me.” Preston’s lame scream sucks me back into the present moment. “You know he monitors my every move.”
It’s my business to know that, just like I know everything about our members.
Except for the shit Preston pulled. We were blindsided by the betrayal when Jake demanded our concierge and assistant, Luna, to book him a room. A man who wasn’t registered in our database.
“I do.” My low, intimidating voice has him cringing from me. “But he hasn’t told us about your little stunt. Didn’t warn us. I don’t trust him. Don’t trust anyone.”
“He had a busy week.” Preston, in a terribly unwise move, puts a dent in my plans to head home. “But ask him now and he’ll tell you.”
I’m looking forward to washing this filth off me. The new Albert Anastasia book I’ve had on my shelf for too long is far more interesting than this fucker over here.
