Page 118 of The Billionaire Who Saved My Cat From The Mafia

He drops my arm, stalks over to the bed, and sits at the foot.“My men said you were with a cowboy.You were holding hands and laughing with a cowboy.”

“They got it wrong, sweetie,” I say.I saunter toward him and kneel before him, scooting between his legs.

“You know, I think I might want to send my men over there tonight.That man, the one with the nice family.Kevin MacLaine.Are you surprised I know his name?”

In some ways, no.But in other ways, I’m shocked as hell.But I’ve learned that it’s best that I keep any shock to myself.“Of course, I’m not surprised.You know everything, sweetie.You’re the most powerful man in Vegas.”

He relaxes a little.There’s nothing Niko enjoys more than an undeserved compliment.

“Have you been working out more?”I ask, massaging the inside of his thigh.“So strong.So hard.”

“This might be fun for a little while,” he muses.

“I’ll make sure you have all the fun you can handle,” I purr.

Without warning, he grabs the lower half of my face and squeezes so hard my skin feels as if it will rip.“Don’t fuck up, Fawn.You fuck up, you take one wrong step, and I’ll punish you.You haveno ideahow much pain I can inflict on a human being.And as for your cowboy…”

“Please,” I beg, forgetting my act.“Don’t hurt the MacLaines.Hurtme.I deserve it.They did nothing.”

He looks at me in surprise.It’s almost like he’s impressed that I can go from bullshitting to earnest pleading in a heartbeat.“Fair enough.Keep me distracted, and I’ll forget I ever heard that name.What was his name again, bitch?”

“Who’s name?”

He produces an evil smile.

I know that Niko’s word isn’t worth a damn after taxes, but if I can keep him distracted, I have a shot.He looks down at his crotch, and I unbutton and unzip his pants.

“Suck my cock,” he orders.“I want to watch you swallow me down until you can’t breathe.”

CHAPTER 57

Special K

I have no curtains or blinds at my place.

My home is set apart from the others in the compound, surrounded by a stand of Sierra Lodgepole and Jeffrey pines.I’ve never given much thought to privacy or even light filtering.

I’m not a big sleeper.Getting four hours of shuteye a night is usually my standard, and my body knows its own rhythm.No alarms are necessary.And no matter the season, I automatically wake up before sunrise.

Under no circumstances have I ever slept past daybreak.Not even when I was in the brig.

That said… I’d fuckingkillfor blackout drapes in my bedroom this morning.I don’t want to get up.Not now and not ever.I’ve barely stirred from my bed in the last ten days.

Which is really bad.And I don’t really give a fuck.

All I want is to return to the neverland of sleep.Unconsciousness.Blackness.Because I’m not all that interested in reality at the moment.I crave darkness and silence.

The damned sun doesn’t care what I crave.

And it’s obvious that Yosemite Ranch doesn’t give a shit, either, since it’s so noisy out my window that I suspect the circus has come to town.

Truck tailgates are slamming closed.Voices are calling out and laughter comes from every direction.I hear goats and chickens.Gates and barn doors and horses and cows and engines and Jasmine’s giggle and… just fuck it.

I throw the covers over my head and turn on my belly, burying my face in the pillow.But the noise and the light still find me, beating me over the head with the simple truth: the world goes on.Outside my window, folks are living normal, busy, and happy lives.

The world doesn’t care that my insides are sliced to ribbons and my heart is crushed and my body is sore.The sun keeps rising and setting.People continue to go to work, go to the dentist, eat, shower.The usual.

Not me.This is not the usual Kevin MacLaine.Not even the usual post-Navy-clusterfuck Kevin MacLaine.