| BOOK TWO | 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 don't know what to call you."
Jace, stone-faced in his all-black attire, sent me a slanted glance. "Same."
I pressed the elevator button. "I mean, technically, until Liam meets with the Chief and straightens out Alexa Haines' fake death, I cannot gallivant around London like a phantasmagorical vision, giving people heart attacks."
Plus, I had some explaining to do. Grayson and Chloe, for example, will either welcome my safe return with smothering, overemotional and excitable kisses or deliver me a black eye and sentenced banishment for trivialising their importance.
Chloe, specifically, has the right to be angry with me. Without a shadow of a doubt, she grieved her best friend. It's unjust to hear about Alexa's return on the news station. I had to soften the blow by resolving conundrums in person.
"It's safer to call me 'Vick', in public, for now, but I'll speak to Liam tonight so that he can ensure a straightforward and expedient administration of liberation." Thoughts of rotting in a prison cell made me queasy. "God, can you imagine if the law chucked the rule book at me? I'd die in prison, Nath—Jace."
He laughed, low and husky. "I think you underestimate your credentials, Vick. You survived far worse than bitchy inmates and unpalatable prison food."
God, he's right. Get a grip on life, Alexa.
The elevator doors chimed open. Jace noticed the long line of posted, officiously intimidating Suits and shilly-shallied. Adam's apple bobbing, he glared at me, bending a scarred, deriding eyebrow.
"Ubiquitous." Rechecking my reflection in the floor-to-ceiling mirror, I fixed my olive green coloured dress, the satin material, skin-tight and paired with gold high-heeled shoes. "They're not here to hurt us, Jace. Those men stand guard to guarantee their Boss' safety."
"Yes, but..." He scratched his chin, walking alongside me. "Why the aviators?"
I remove my blonde curls, tuck it under my arm and unravel my dark, untamed waves. "I reckon it's so people can't see them nosing." Confirming my hypothesis, Suit three, who stands by tiered Ficus plant, itched his cinched lips. "Do you guy's want drinks or anything?" As expected, not one male responded. "Maybe a bite to eat?"
Jace, dumbfounded, stared at the Suits with a what-the-fuck look. "Are they mute?"
"No, I hear them converse when they think no ones around." I rapt my knuckles on the penthouse door. "It's either they don't like me, or they fear Liam will blow a fuse if they speak to me."
"We like you, Ma'am," one alerted, and a gloating smile invaded my miffed expression.
"Well, I like you guys, too," I said, grinning like a Cheshire cat. "Now, do you fancy a beer?"
"Lower ranks aren't allowed to drink on the job, Ma'am. Thank you, though."
That sucks. "I'll sneak out with some orange juice then." The front door flew open sharply, and euphonious music spilt into the corridor. "Hey, Brad."
