Page 30 of Turmoil's Target

I shake my head ruefully as I rinse off.

I can’t afford to get sucked in by Seraphina’s charms.

She’s the target, nothing more.

I’m here to bring her down, not get tangled up in some twisted romance

Stepping out of the shower, I towel off and head to my closet, selecting a tight black muscle shirt that clings to my chest and arms like a second skin.

I know how much Seraphina loves my muscles. It’s fucking obvious.

Hell, the way her gaze lingers on my biceps and pecs anytime I’m around her is a dead giveaway.

As I’m getting dressed, my phone buzzes with an incoming text.

I grab it off the dresser, assuming it’s Seraphina confirming tonight’s plans.

But the name on the screen makes me pause.

Morozov.

Dear old Dad.

I open the message warily.

I’m in Las Vegas for a couple weeks working on a new project. We should have dinner while I’m in town. It’s been too long.

I snort derisively.

More like not long enough.

My relationship with my father has always been contentious at best, the Hollywood mogul perpetually disappointed that his only son chose a life of grease and gasoline over glitz and glamor.

I tap out a quick response.

Would be good to see you Papa, but I’m tied up with the club right now. Lots going on. Rain check? I’ll come to CA soon for a visit.

His reply is immediate and terse.

Right. Of course. The club comes first, as always. Nevermind then.

I can practically feel his disapproval radiating through the phone.

Whatever.

I’ve long since given up trying to please my father.

The Reapers are my family now, my brothers.

At least they don’t judge me for making my choices.

I toss the phone aside and finish getting ready, my mind already shifting gears to tonight’s operation.

Jolt and I need to be on our A-game if we’re going to pull this off.

I head downstairs and find Jolt waiting for me in the living room, sprawled on the leather couch.

He looks up when I walk in.

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