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Kill Switch (Devil’s Night #3)
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“I’ve done far worse than what I went to prison for. She has no idea how bad this can get.”
Sending him to prison was the worst thing I could’ve done. It didn’t matter that he did the crime or that I wished he was dead. Perhaps I thought I’d have time to disappear before he got out or he’d cool off in jail and be anything but the horror he was.
But I was wrong. Three years came and went too fast, and now he’s anything but calm. Prison only gave him time to plan.
And while I anticipated his vengeance, I didn’t expect this.
He doesn’t want to make me hurt. He wants to make everything hurt.
First thing’s first. Get rid of her daddy. He told them I forced her. He told them his little girl was a victim, but I was a kid, too, and she wanted it just as much as I did.
Step two… Give her, her sister, and her mother nowhere to run and no fuel to escape. The Ashby women are alone now and desperate for a knight in shining armor.
But that’s not what’s coming.
No, it’s time I listened to my father and took control of my future. It’s time I showed them all–my family, her family, my friends–that I will never change and that I have no other ambition than to be the nightmare of their lives.
Starting with her.
She’ll be so scared, she won’t even be safe in her own head by the time I’m done with her. And the best part is I won’t have to break into her home to do it.
As the new man of the house I have all the keys.
*Kill Switch is a romantic suspense suitable for readers 18+.
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A little text missing due to memory limiations of the website
“Ten moves and you have me,” Mr. Garin told me. “Do you see it?”
I stared at the board between us, calculating the moves I needed to make for checkmate while trying to anticipate his counter moves.
Yeah, I see it. But what fun would that be?
I reached for my pawn at E2.
“Don’t,” he scolded.
And he shot me the same look I’d seen since I was a kid.
But I couldn’t resist. Unable to hold in my small smile, I ignored him and moved it to E4.
He let out a sigh and shook his head, exasperated with the lack of control and strategy he failed at drilling into me all those long afternoons after school, years ago, when he worked for my father.
Or he thought he failed at drilling it into me, anyway. People assumed I behaved strictly on impulse, when actually, it required quite a bit of strategy being this fucked up.
House music pounded downstairs, the club already packed with college girls, young professionals, and anyone else in the twenty-something set able to spring for the three-hundred-dollar bottle of vodka or champagne just to be able to sit at a damn table.
I’d spent plenty of time down there in the crowd and noise in high school with my friends. Now I just kept a private room upstairs on reserve to catch up with Kostya Garin, one of my father’s old bodyguards who now organized security for this club. Fifty-nine years old, gray goatee, and the same black suits he always wore when he worked for my father, he still had more muscles than me, and he was one of the few people I had, at least, some regard for.
I would do business with him.
I would trust anything he had to say.
I would attend his funeral.
There weren’t many people I’d sit through a whole service for.
But we weren’t friends, and we never discussed anything personal. He taught me things, but he never complicated it with trying to be my father. He was one of the perks I came here for.
“I want to leave,” a girl spoke up from the other side of the room as if on cue.
As Mr. Garin contemplated his next move, I turned my head toward her.
She wore a tight pink dress of sequins, glittering in the dim glow coming from the sconces on the wall, and her ass was planted on some little prick’s lap whose name I didn’t know. Her boyfriend across from them, on the edge of the black leather couch, watching his buddy putting his hands on his woman. I observed them, trying to put myself in each of their skin.
Did she like another man touching her? Was her boyfriend jealous? Turned on? Angry? Was his best friend living out a long-held fantasy for her? Was he enjoying this? Was he hard?
I blinked, waiting for it to come. His jealousy. Her degradation. His desire. Their fear and excitement at being watched.
But it didn’t come. Not yet. It was getting harder and harder to empathize over the years.
Maybe if it was my new little wife being fondled?
The guy touched her hips lightly and hesitantly as his mouth grazed a path across her shoulder, probably trying to hold back so they didn’t know how much he was enjoying himself.
“Can we leave now?” she asked me, the man underneath her not giving the slightest hint he wanted to leave quite yet.
But I ignored her, turning back to the board and seeing that Mr. Garin had matched my move with his pawn to E5.
I smiled to myself.
“Look closely,” he continued. “You can still get me. Ten moves.”
Ten? I grabbed my knight and moved it to F3, hearing Mr. Garin let out a sigh as he plucked his knight and sat him back down in C6 as if on auto-pilot.
“Damon…” he scolded, growing angry with me.
I could hear it in his voice, and my pulse raced a little as he continued the game, going through the motions as if we’d gone ’round and ’round about this for years, and he was done with my bullshit mistakes and impulsiveness. He just wanted to get the game and his inevitable win over with so he could get back to work now that my head wasn’t in the game.
My bishop to C4, his pawn to D6, my other knight to C3, and as he reached for his bishop, I stopped breathing as I watched him move it to G4, pinning my knight to my queen.
You idiot. That actually fucking worked, and he didn’t see what he’d done yet. I moved my knight to E5, snatching his pawn and leaving my queen completely vulnerable to his bishop. He saw the opening, shook his head, and captured her, removing her from the board and moving his bishop into my queen’s spot.