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Shattered Spirit Episode 5: Weapon

Read episode 5 here:

Death calls to me.

Is too appealing to me.

I shouldn’t be around anyone in need of protection, not even for a few days.

Thing is, Willow called me a few days ago and told me how happy Sienna was when she found out. So, although I thought about backing out a million times, in the end I knew I couldn’t.

Sienna is family and we’re all she has left.

She’s counting on me to be solid support.

I drive past Penn Station, and can’t help but notice that I’m grinding my teeth.

Solid support, indeed.

I park in the building’s garage, and head toward the elevators. Once inside, I watch as one by one the floors climb and my heart rate goes up along with them.

I catch a glimpse of my reflection on the mirrored walls, and take in the black dress pants, the gray button down, black dress shoes . . . completely batshit expression . . .

Arriving at my lawyer’s floor, I push open the glass doors and walk to the receptionist. “Good afternoon. I’m Mr. Carter.”

“They’ve been expecting you,” she says. “I’ll let them know you arrived—” Her blue eyes focus on a spot behind me and I turn to see what she’s staring at.

Converse sneakers.

Perfect calves.

Calves that sinuously slide up into tight gorgeous thighs.

And thighs that lead to . . .

Jesus. That woman’s entire lower body is shaped just right.

An ass like that is meant to be used. Bitten. Licked. Pounding. I’d bend this girl over and take my sweet time eating her from the back.

My jaw twitches.

My hands twitch.

My cock decides to play monkey-see monkey-do and follows suit.

I let my eyes trail to the ends of her brown hair.

And that’s when I pause, my brow furrowing. My brain is telling me something but my dick isn’t letting me properly compute the signals it’s sending.

I squint, trying to get a better look at the girl’s back.

Jesus, that hair. That hair should give it away. Yeah, brunettes are a dime a dozen, but I know I’ve seen it before.

My dick continues to throb at the sight of her and it keeps distracting me from the very important conclusion I’m trying to come to.

The girl is standing in front of my lawyer’s office. My lawyer is saying something to her quietly.

My stomach drops eight levels below the crust of the Earth.

Alarms are starting to go off on every level of my consciousness.

The girl nods then turns.

The face looks different, a lot older of course, but the eyes . . .

Those motherfucking eyes.

Not even my dick can ignore the realization of who that is.

Hazel eyes widen as they land on me.

My heart seems to stop functioning for a second.

Or five.

And . . .

She’s running toward me.


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