Disclaim (Deliver #3) Read Online Pam Godwin

Categories Genre: Alpha Male, Angst, BDSM, Crime, Dark, Erotic, Mafia, Romance, Suspense Tags Authors: Series: Deliver Series by Pam Godwin
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Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
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Silence stretched, followed by her sigh. “Maybe I am.”

“Afraid?”

“Maybe. Sometimes…” She jerked her head up.

Something moved at the edge of the screen. A man came into view, approaching her with a human-size bundle rolled up in a sheet. Terrible goddamn timing.

The camera angle shifted as she slid off the car and walked toward the house. “I need to go.”

“We’re not finished.” He tensed, unable to dampen the vitriol in his voice. “Do not disconnect.”

“Slow your roll, sparkle. I’ll call you right back.” She hung up.

He slammed a fist into the dash, cracking an air vent and shooting a jolt of pain up his arm.

“Feel better?” Nico asked dryly.

“Fuck off.” He glanced at the rear-view mirror and met Nico’s eyes. “Did you get the address?”

Matias could make the call to have the body picked up, but the order carried more urgency when it came directly from the boss.

“Sí, pendejo.” Nico opened the back door and stepped out, his black suit made darker against the backdrop of the surrounding woods. Turning, he leaned back in and nodded at the tablet. “You need to put a leash on that. Fuck her ass into submission.”

Hard to argue when fantasies of destroying every hole in her body had kept him in a hyper state of arousal for over a decade.

Nico shut the door and paced away from the SUV, his profile stark against the glow of the phone at his ear.

Neither of them had time for this side trip to Austin. Not with the heroin shipment arriving in Orlando tomorrow and the operatives they were currently moving across the Chihuahuan Desert. Smuggling drugs and terrorists into the States was a lucrative business, but risky as hell, especially with federal agents sniffing around the compound in El Paso.

Nico sure as fuck didn’t want their resources allocated to an unprofitable cause like Camila Dias. But the man owed his power, his wealth, and every phlegmatic beat of his heart to Matias. Nico might bitch and argue, but he wasn’t going to tell Matias no.

The drone changed course, following her as she helped load the body in the trunk of the sedan. That done, she turned toward the man at her side.

The video was too muddy to make out details, but the way he crowded her, standing too fucking close, gave him away.

Tate Vades towered over her by a foot, his shoulders twice the width of hers, and one of his arms was sleeved in black ink. His blond-brown hair, blue eyes, and muscled physique made him an ideal sex toy for a slave buyer with an appetite for strong men on their knees.

Tate’s buyer, however, didn’t live long enough to drive away with his new slave. Matias had collected the body himself, as well as the 5.7×28mm casings that had been left behind. Rounds that could’ve only come from Camila’s FN Five-seven pistol.

Fuck him, but he couldn’t get enough of her murderous spirit.

Apparently, neither could Tate. For the past six years, he’d become a permanent fixture in her life. Lucky for him, his interest in her didn’t dip below her waist. Something to do with his unresolved issues with intimacy. Gracias, Van Quiso.

That didn’t stop her, however, from reaching up and placing her hand on his jaw.

Step away, Tate. Matias zoomed in on the sliver of space between their unmoving postures. His molars crashed together. Step the fuck back, hijo.

Tate raised an arm above his head, holding something away from her. She gripped his neck, her other hand swiping at whatever he kept out of reach. The car keys? Were they arguing over who would deliver the body?

The guy was eager. Eager to protect her and fight for her cause. But if he wanted his dick to remain attached to his body, he’d get eager to remove her hand from his fucking neck.

Their arm-waving dispute ended when Tate broke free and climbed into the driver’s seat of the sedan. Good boy.

She watched him drive away with the body, a hand on her hip and the other holding her phone.

Matias flexed his fingers, cursing every second she delayed. Hit redial, Camila.

A heartbeat later, she did.

He accepted the call on speaker. “Are you afraid of me?”

“Which answer will change the subject?”

“I’ll take that as a yes.”

She walked to the yard, prompting the camera to pan to the side. Stopping beneath the perimeter lights, she lay on her back in the grass. Her hair fanned out around her in shiny, black tendrils, like tributaries of the Amazon River at night.

The sound of her breaths marked the space between them. So close he could see her and hear her, yet still too far away. She was stalling, turning his nerves into a breeding ground for desperation, anger, and desire.

“All right. I’ll give you this,” she said. “I’m afraid the reality of you won’t live up to the memory.”


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