Page 129 of Desperate Actions

Santos isn’t a man of small talk. If he’s here, there’s a reason.

But I don’t have the patience to drag it out of him right now.

I make a noncommittal sound, slipping my phone into my pocket as I take a step past him.

“Wait for us by the car.”

He holds my stare a beat longer than necessary. Then he dips his chin and turns, making his way toward the back elevator.

I don’t dwell on whatever’s eating at Santos. We all have our ghosts.

Right now, I’m focused on one thing and one thing only.

Getting to my wife.

I crave her.

The sound of her voice, the feel of her in my arms, the way her scent wraps around me and settles something wild inside me.

Today was a hard fucking day.

I don’t like mysteries. Don’t like threats lurking in the dark, waiting to strike.

And I sure as hell don’t like anyone messing with what’s mine.

Because whatever the hell this was—whatever game someone thinks they’re playing with the Vipers—it’s personal to me now.

Angel Fury might hate my fucking guts.

But I love his daughter.

And that means his war is my war.

Because any threat to him is a threat to her.

And that makes it a threat to me.

These faceless, nameless assholes? The ones working for whatever son of a bitch set this in motion?

They don’t even realize the level of hell they just signed up for.

They don’t know what I am, what I’m capable of.

But they’re about to find out. Because I will hunt them down.

And when I do? I will put them in the ground.

Right now I need to push those thoughts away, and I do.

I dip my chin at Mrs. Marsden, Aella’s assistant. She gives a small nod in return, her face neutral, but I catch the flicker of amusement in her eyes.

She’s been working for the Volkov family for a long time. She’s seen her fair share of powerful men and their obsessions.

She knows exactly what Aella is to me.

My breath is slow, measured, as I step inside her office.

My wife’s office.

---