| BOOK FOUR | 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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I awoke with a start, the high-pitched, shrilling security alarm and inter-connected window shutters launching an immediate counterattack in the Manor. Suits blustered downstairs, a spine-chilling conglomeration of startling gunshots, panic-stricken arguments and hot-headed sentinels. Heavy-footed men scampered the halls, and someone ordered rapid voltage amplification of the perimeter gates, which meant trespassers roamed the property.
Liam's eyes shot open. Reaching for the Desert Eagle he kept under the pillow, he lunged to his feet, drawing on grey jogging bottoms, flung the master bedroom's door open and left to support his men.
Finding the first available T-shirt, I pushed my head through the neckline and went to the window to see the commotion outside. It was no use. I saw nothing through the retractable screen.
Knowing Logan must be terrified, I stomped my legs into knee-high socks and walked bare-footed down the unilluminated hallway to the west wing. Drumming my fist on his door, I stepped back to give him some space and rubbed the spiked horripilation off my arms. "Logan?" I called gently, not wanting him to be alarmed. "It's Alexa."
Clangorous sirens haunted the Manor. I was neither anxious nor frightened. The senseless idiot who thought it'd be a good idea to enter Liam Warren's property deserved the unpreventable. Liam's never brought trouble to our home (business stays in work and tortured souls die slowly in the subterranean chambers of Club 11), but blood will stain our walls tonight.
Those incompetent opportunists chose Logan's first time staying here to break and enter. For that purpose alone, I hope Liam decapitates them.
I knocked on Logan's door again. "I need to know you are okay."
Mute, he persisted.
"Right, I do not want to invade your privacy." Hearing gunfire in the distance, I put my hand to the door handle. "But it's an emergency." Cracking open the bedroom door, I peered through the gap and searched the dark bedroom. "Logan?"
An unutilised bed dominated the room, the sheets unwrinkled, the pillows propped in a decorative, orderly fashion. I moved to the en-suite. The unused super-plush towels remain folded on the vanity unit, and untouched toiletries hoard glass cabinets.
I felt a sharp jolt of fear in my gut.
"Liam!" Running full pelt out of the bedroom and down the hall, socked-feet slapping against the marble floor, I rushed down the stairs, the Manor's wide-open double doors paving the way for cold, whistling winds. "Disarm!" In a frenetic blur of hysteria, I whacked the Colt from someone's raised arms, the other men assembled outdoors, armed and shooting, disregarded protests. I might pull rank when Liam's unavailable, but I became authoritatively pointless when he's in the building. "Please, don't shoot."
Covering my ears to scale down the unremitting clangour of gunfire, I squeezed my eyes shut, adopted fearless courage and ran full throttle into the firing line. I knew the second I stepped out that they'd demobilise.
