| BOOK FIVE | THE LONDON CRIME KING | A DARK MAFIA ROMANCE NOVEL |
This book contains adult language and subject matter, including graphic violence, drugs and explicit sex that may be disturbing to some readers.
This series is NOT a typical romance...
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Ben, Ethan and Wyatt, three brazen-faced snoopers with their ears perked up by the fire exit door, made a run for it the second our eyes collided. They had the decency to hide nosiness (one returned to the vegetable station, one sprayed the stainless-steel counter with disinfectant, the other pretended to check a message on his phone), but I had caught them red-handed, eavesdropping on a private conversation.
Nosy bastards.
It would be hypocritical to lecture or chastise the trio. I have planted an ear on Benjamin's bedroom door more times than I can count when he's arguing with Stephanie, the blonde, sharp-tongued barista.
Ethan dated a pretty bank manager once, who used to swing by for coffee every morning. He ended their toxic, three-month relationship during a volatile telephone conversation in the alleyway, and I hung out of the bathroom window upstairs, digesting their bitter break-up whilst relaying everything back to Quinn via text message.
Wyatt proposed to his childhood sweetheart, Kirsty, in the backseat of an old pickup truck when attending their first drive-in cinema. It was all unicorns and rainbows until she left him for someone else.
The poor bugger moved in, short-term, camping on the sofa, drinking alcohol every night to numb the pain, the betrayal.
He swore he'd never fall in love again.
Ben spent many sleepless nights nursing his friend back to health, and I made avoidable trips to the kitchen to pour mugs of sweet tea so that I could tune in to their late-night chitchats.
Thus, I cannot be mad.
We are all as bad as each other.
Inquisitorial.
Meddlesome.
Defensive for one another.
I folded the pamphlet before their wandering eyes pried.
"Are you hungry?" Ben conveyed pan-crisped sausages to the centre island. "Or, I can make coffee and take an early break."
My brother is asking me, without actually asking me, if I need to talk. I have a dilemma, but Ben is not the right person to give advice. Firstly, he is not fond of Brad or his criminal lifestyle. Secondly, he wore a permanent pair of biased goggles. I am his sister. Therefore, I am inculpable, never wrong or blameworthy.
The opinion of an impartial mind is obligatory.
"No, I should get back upstairs." I had left Carter unattended for too long already, not that I doubted Tommy. I genuinely believe he is here to rectify the past. "Maybe later?"
