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I’m simply fascinated by the stories dead bodies tell. And murdered ones tell the most interesting stories.1
honestly great start to the book
Whoever is doing this isn’t interested in death. They are interested in killing.
bro serial killers are funny
“Oh, Papá, what have you done?”
he made a place for keeping boddies his kinda smart
Finn was supposed to be training Lochlan on how to take over the management of Peaches, our gentlemen’s club, but now that he’s playing house in the country all shacked up, it’s fallen on me.
leave your brother alone he deserve a fuck-a-thon
He wanted his boys to be volatile and reckless because it also meant we were violent and ruthless.
and hot dont forget the hot part
“See you soon, Cortez.”
no bec y is he so hot and i just read a sene that literally painted him in the worse light ever
blue eyes, so cold and bitter you can’t help but get a sour taste in your mouth, and a stare so intense that it makes you feel like he is either reading you down to your darkest secrets or looking right through you like you’re nothing but a gust of air.
the power of blue eyes
“Sounds like he needs help with housekeeping, not babysitting,”
I keep my hand in my pocket still, unmoving, and cock my head to the side. “Shoot me, and you’ll never know who sent me.”
“I’m going back inside to enjoy the rest of my night.” She pushes past me. “You stay at the bar, but try not to look like such a fucking creep.”
“You’re not the Cortez I take orders from. Bark at me again, and I’ll be the one you need protecting from.”
brooooooooooooooo
I find myself yanking Lochlan out of his chair by the collar of his shirt. “What the hell, dude?” He grunts, and Reggie gives me an equally enraged glare. “Make yourself scarce,” I growl. “But I’m her—” “Not anymore. Fuck off.”
posessive much
“This is your game we’re playing. Can’t back out now.”
Instead, he’s a master of small touches, light grazes, and shuttered looks that make me feel off balance.
hot
“I don’t need your money, Cortez. Your daddy’s paying me plenty.”
The street light catches the copper in his hair and cuts his defined jaw and cheekbones with shadows. His blue eyes are as stunning of an azure as they are heartless. Never has such a pretty face pissed me off so much.
I should have never opened the door…
bro got mummy and daddy issues
“That’s why I’m here, protecting your ungrateful ass!” Goddamn, she makes me want to rip my hair out.
He stands, and there’s something about seeing him rise back to his full height while he cracks his knuckles that has me taking a step back.
“You can hate me, treat me like a dog, tell me to be a good boy, but where you go, I go. And when shit hits the fan, you’ll be glad I'm in here and not out there.”
I may not be able to beat him in a physical fight, but I am one petty motherfucker, and he’s about to find that out.
Once you believe something so wholeheartedly, you can’t ever fully let it go. Time doesn’t heal shit.
I haven’t been triggered while awake in years, and I feel a wash of shame. Weak.
It’s easy to see all the ways he’s beautiful. Strong-cut jaw, long dark lashes, even down to the small dusting of freckles across his cheeks. Add in the tattoos, and he truly is objectively breathtaking, if not a bit terrifying. I can’t stop myself from snarking. “So, what now, babe?”
“Because when my hands are wrapped around your throat, I’m the one you’ll be praying to.” …Lord have mercy…
That what u be screaming
you chop someone into small enough pieces, you can transfer a body in really any vehicle,”
“Is there some kind of criminal manual I don’t know about?” “Yeah, it’s called How to Not Do Stupid Shit and Get Yourself Killed.”
He’s one of those dudes trying to bring back the mullet with a dopey smile that instantly makes me want to punch his teeth out.
Damn, this man cleans up nice. Shame about the personality though.
And fuck do I want her. It’s like fire in my veins.
never knowing what to do in situations like this. We weren’t taught to empathize, we were taught to suck it up and shut the fuck up.
“I think grieving is always fucked up. There’s no right way to do it, but not because there’s no wrong way either. There’s nothing right or just or healing about grief. It’s a wound that never heals.”
“Fuck, you’re a menace.”
“Cash once bought a whole island because he was bored.”
there’s an odd metal door that feels very out of place.
not this again broo last time i saw one of these i was trumatised
Maybe that’s why he hasn’t made this place feel lived in and personalized. Because he doesn’t see himself as his own person, but rather as a soldier with a greater purpose: to serve the family.
thats so said bu think its bec my bro think his the reason his mum died
Or just knowing that this whole no-touching rule is a farce because he and I both know that if he wanted to, I wouldn’t be able to stop him. He’s proven as much.
more like your wouldnt want to
“That’s my girl.”
I don’t know what to do. I’ve never had a woman sleep over, let alone pass out on my couch before.
thats not clear at all
But something keeps nagging me and I bolt up, stomping back to the guest room to grab that damn pillow.
“Push me and find out.”
i want to see what happens
“Just when I was beginning to think you actually had a heart.” Her words are a dagger to the chest that I let sink in deep. I let the sting remind me that at the end of the day, she’s a job and my feelings have nothing to do with it.
“How do you expect me to do that with these on?” “I could help you”—a slow grin plays on my lips—“but I’m not breaking your rules.”
“Jackass, get in here.” I jerk my head at him. The smug bastard cups his ear and leans toward the glass, his brows squished together. “Please.”
“Don’t touch me,” I say quickly, and he cocks an eyebrow. “Don’t touch me directly. Keep a washcloth between us.” If he touches me, skin on skin, I think I might combust.
“If you’re going to insist on jeopardizing your safety to learn what happened, then I’ll find out for you.”
Fuck, I don’t think I’ve ever been hornier.
just fuck already jesus
I’ve never wanted to see such a pretty thing break before.
Then she uses that same finger to tip my chin up and whispers sweetly, “Good boy.”
Somewhere in Roan’s twisted, fucked-up criminal mind, this man, bound and prepped for a bloody interrogation, is a gift. An offering. And I’ll be damned if I don’t find it at least a little cute. “Qué lindo, mentiroso.”
thats fucked up but i get it
