Page 60 of Bulletproof Love

My phone buzzes. NYPD lights up my screen. I let it ring while I scroll through the preliminary report. It helps to have friends in high places.

The fire destroyed most of the evidence, but they found traces of accelerant. Two bodies. The property records on that dump lead straight to MechExpress.

Fuck.

I need this taken care of before Ivan finds out. Before he realizes how I’ve let everything turn to shit. The thought of his disappointment, his rage, makes me want to bash Bruce’s head in too. I dial Fairfax’s number, pacing as it rings.

“What?” His tone is a complete one-eighty from how we greeted each other weeks ago.

“The investigation. Handle it.”

“And why would I do that? After what your people cost me on New Year’s?—”

“Because if I go down, you go down with me.” I imbue my voice with all the rage I feel. “Every dirty deal, every charitable donation. I have records, Harrison.”

The line goes quiet. Finally, he sighs. “I’ll make some calls. But Orlov? We’re done after this. You won’t see a dollar from me.”

I hit “end.” Done? He thinks he can just walk away? No one fucks with me.

A harsh laugh escapes my lips as I sit back down in front of my computer. Bruce hoists his brother’s body, dragging him toward the door, leaving a crimson trail in his wake. What a mess. Yet another problem I’ll have to deal with because of his incompetence.

“Get rid of him properly,” I say. “Or you’ll join him.”

I go over the details I was able to get out of Dominic. My mind keeps returning to thoughts of the blonde. The pretty one with the sense of defiance. Bruce was smart enough to get a few blurry shots of her that night. About all he got. Useless, I swear.

My hands steady as I typeFalin Sinclairinto the search bar. Images fill my screen. A news article, professional headshots, snippets of her life before she met Blake Hyland. Ah, she has a cop daddy. How interesting.

This Sinclair girl. She helped destroy everything I’ve built.

I zoom in on a photo of her at some tech conference. Her hair is different, darker and falling over one shoulder as she speaks into a microphone, but it’s her. Such confidence. Such control.

I’ll enjoy breaking her while her boyfriend watches.

They think they’re so clever, playing hero and saving those worthless girls. But they have no idea what’s coming. I don’t need Fairfax or my uncle’s resources. I’ll handle this myself.

I click through more photos, committing every detail to memory. Soon enough, I’ll fuck that self-assured smile off her face. I’ll kill all her friends, saving Blake Hyland for last.

Then I’ll give her to Ivan as a gift. He always had a thing for blondes. I’ll show him that I’m still worthy. Still his most valuable asset.

“Sir?” Bruce’s shaking voice interrupts my thoughts. “It’s done. May I go and—and…”

“Get out. I’m done with you.” I wave him away without looking up. My eyes widen as I scroll through a particularly interesting article from a small Ohio newspaper.

I shoot down the rest of my vodka, enjoying the burn. “Now this is exactly what I needed to find.”

CHAPTERTWENTY-FIVE

JASPER

Bang,bang, bang.

Somebody’s trying to break in. I jump up, disorientated, my heart hammering from the sudden intrusion. Falin stirs beside me, mumbling in her sleep, and I remember how we defiled the couch in the most delicious way.

“Maintenance!” a deep voice sounds. Before I’m able to get my bearings, Leon strides to the door, pulling it open and greeting whichever bastard had the nerve to jolt me from dreamland.

I watch through groggy eyes as two guys lugging a ladder and a tool kit hurry into the room, getting directions from Leon. The first one stops, his eyes lingering on Falin’s bare leg stretched out over the blanket. “If you’d like to keep your eyes, you better get moving,” I say. He darts his gaze away, muttering an apology. I flash a grin to show I’m only kidding, but honestly, I’d do much worse than take his eyes.

Climbing over Falin, I go to take a piss, struggling with my insane morning wood. I’m so distracted, I almost forget that we can’t flush. As I set up my toothbrush, uncapping the bottled water someone left in here, I roll my lip between my teeth, still tasting Falin. I wish I didn’t have to brush my fucking teeth or wash up. She was drenched for me, soaking my face like it was her job. I want to remember that every time I wet my lips, but I can’t go around with rancid breath.

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