The Beast of Boston by JL Mac

Author:JL Mac [Mac, JL]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: JL Mac Books
Published: 2020-05-18T23:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twenty-Four

Ena

I wake up to find things have obviously changed. Lots and lots of fucking change. While I’m considerably less sore following my brush with death I’m not entirely certain that I won’t find myself back on death row at any time now. It’s difficult to predict what Beast does and doesn’t do. In truth, I’m not convinced that even he sometimes knows what he will do from one minute to the next. I can tell he shoots from the hip at times.

It feels like a trap but I can’t help but walk right into it. The door is gaping open and my things from the rental are neatly piled. I look first for my gun and knife and of course find that he has decided to keep those particular items from me. I take a tentative step out into the corridor and take the same path I took before. Down the hall, down the stairs. I find Beast in the kitchen piling food onto a platter. His gray eyes drift to me and though I can see he’s a little worse for the wear, he looks incredible in loose fitting athletic shorts and gym shoes, no shirt.

Holy.

Fucking.

Hell.

I swallow hard internally pleading with my throat to work. I lick my lips and watch him stack bacon, ham, scrambled eggs, and triangles of toast on the plate.

“See something you want?”

“I—yes. I’m hungry,” I admit feeling naked under his gaze.

“Yeah, Miss Devlin. Me too,” he says darkly, his eyes scanning my body from head to toe. Goose bumps spring up and my heart speeds. He gathers the platter in one hand and a jug of orange juice in another hand and heads for the outdoor dining table I’m beginning to see is his preferred place to eat.

“You took my gun. And my knife,” I accuse as we sit down.

“I did. They’re in the harbor now. No tellin’ how dirty that shit was,” he says with a critical glance my way as he stabs food with a fork and fills his plate.

“It’s clean.”

“Doesn’t matter now.”

“Right,” I concede.

“Eat,” he orders around a mouth full of food with his fork pointed at me. The stubborn streak in me wants to tell him to fuck himself but lack of food has left me weak and dizzy and precariously close to collapsing. I have one last card on the table and I need to hang in there long enough to see what move he makes next. I offered myself up. I told him I’d do or be anything he pleases, whatever he wants if he tries to get Lan home. “Eat or this negotiation is done before it even begins,” he warns remarkably casual. I grab a piece of toast and a small serving of eggs, opting to test the waters before chowing down just to be sick. My stomach has been empty for days and bacon just sounds like trouble.

“You met Arman, he’s The Salesman,” he says between bites. I nod, taking a small bite of my own toast.

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