Contents
Trigger Warning
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Epilogue
Afterword
STAY CONNECTED
Trigger Warning
This is a dark romance that touches on subjects that some readers may not be comfortable with. All characters are fictional, all scenes plucked from the imagination, this is simply a work of art. But sometimes, even works of art can push buttons we’re not ready or willing to have pushed.
If you’re unsure of what your triggers are – don’t read this book.
If sensitive subjects are hard for you to handle – don’t read this book.
If colorful language isn’t your thing – don’t read this book.
For those who dare, I hope you enjoy the ride!
Chapter One
SOFIA
The disguise didn't fit. I didn't know what else I expected, given I'd bought it online under a fake name. The side bar came up with all sorts of other items I might like, and customers who bought this also purchased blah blah blah.
Truthfully speaking, the ad promoting the provocative French Maid did give me a brief moment of comedic pause, despite the fact that my business was very serious. Some things simply aren't worth the price of comedy. Especially since there's nothing funny about murder.
Although, showing up to his office with my boobs hanging out of some cheap polyester lace, a pair of stilettos and a feather duster would be hilarious. There'd be no way FiFi could get past security, however. I had to hide in plain sight if I were going to pull this off. I didn't think I'd get away with it. In fact I knew I wouldn't get away with it. But getting away with it wasn't exactly the point. Killing him was.
In the past few days I’d ran my head Around every possible scenario that could follow this quest I was on. I could run. I could hide. I could do this or do that. The more I thought about it, the more my mind blurred.
In the end, the only right thing to do was to leave my future up to the judge and jury, if this ever made it to trial. Let someone else make the damn decisions.
The service elevator dinged cheerfully as it reached the top floor. I grasped the handle of my housekeeping cart, my eyes darting to the bucket with the Clorox and disinfectants. Yeah, I was disinfecting. About to rid the world of the biggest, nastiest germ on the petri dish of life.
I wondered how many people would want to thank me. How many would write to me in prison. How many would show up in front of maximum security to protest my execution.
I pushed the cart onto the tiled hallway. The doors slid shut with a satisfying whoosh, leaving me and my cleaning products all by our lonesomes.
The security camera turned in my direction, and I fought with myself not to look at it. Looking at it would cause suspicion. Not that I gave a crap about what potential prosecutors would want to use against me later. I was living in the now. And 'now' meant I was an everyday Latina maid, “Maria” as my name tag so originally proclaimed, coming to clean the omnipotent executive suites of Petersen & Stiller.
I didn't need no stinkin' security guard's misgivings aroused by me staring at a motion-sensing camera like I was up to something.
His name, etched on the door in gold letters, glared at me. Maddox Petersen. There couldn't have been a more appropriate name. It sounded like a villain from a comic book. But Maddox wasn't cool enough for that. He was the owner, founder, CEO of one of the most successful brokerage houses in the history of the universe.
They were a lot like Merril Lynch before the Bank of America buy out. And while comic book baddies can be nerds, too – and most often are – no way could Maddox Peterson qualify for prestigious characterizations like Joker or Magneto.
I stopped staring at his stupid wannabe name, and turned the knob.
The door wasn't locked, as I knew it wouldn't be. With such a crack security team keeping watchful eyes on Maddox's fortress of fuckery, there was no need to go through such cautious formalities.
Or maybe I just got lucky.
Truth be told, I didn’t expect it to be this easy. So much so that I came up with alternatives. Plan B was for Maria to clean the hallway until his three-piece-suited ass came out of the elevator. I'd feign surprise, turn around, and say, “Buenos noches, Senor Ped-er-sin,” in a forced Mexican accent. I'd bat my eyelashes, stick my hand in the bucket with the Clorox, and… boom! Plan in motion. But, here I was, able to execute Plan A and not getting thrown out of the loop.
Maddox’s office was exactly what I expected. Brash. Masculine. Too much leather, as if he was compensating for something. Spotless and industrialized. Sterile.
I sneered, making sure my back was to the cameras, pulled the mop from my cart, and started Swiffering.
I took great care around his obnoxious, stainless steel and glass desk. I bent down, going after a few dust bunnies, but what I was really doing was looking for hidden alarms, buttons, switches and dials, whatever some dick head of his stature may have wired to his throne. I didn't find any.
What I did find made my gorge rise up to my throat. I literally threw up in my mouth.
A long, blonde hair next to the wheel of his over-priced office chair. We may therefore conclude that I wasn't the only female of the species to ever be on all fours down here.
The thought of
