He's her enemy. Her obsession. And the only man who has the power to destroy her.
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My name is Frank Monroe, and I am the most dangerous woman in Chicago. Not because I kill, but because I make it legal. I'm the lawyer the Irish mob calls when...
"...And you, you better run because I'm going to destroy you for what you've taken from me."
- Samantha Young
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I snatched my keys off the hook and stormed out, cursing under my breath like each swear could slice through the knot in my skull.
My head was a disaster zone. A fucking warzone. And the last goddamn thing I needed was their faces looping on repeat-her wrapped around him, him buried in her, the two of them going at it like they'd staged a live performance for my personal torture.
By the time I swung into the lot of Hector's absurdly expensive building, my blood was boiling in my throat. I killed the engine, slammed the door harder than necessary, and walked toward the entrance with hell in every step.
"Frankie. Here for Hector." I threw the words at the security guy like they tasted bitter on my tongue. Because what the hell was I doing here?
He nodded and led me to the elevator. "Right this way, ma'am."
The ride up took forever. My brain fed me her image on a loop-wild, untamed hair that looked way too much like mine, except hers came with a cheap, slutty attitude.
Of all the women he could've picked, he dragged home a bootleg version of me.
Jealousy? Fuck that. I knew what I was. I knew what my temper could do when it got loose, and if she was still standing in his apartment, I couldn't swear I'd keep my hands to myself.
I shoved into his penthouse and called his name.
And there she was. Exactly like I'd imagined in a dozen furious replays. Wearing his shirt. Hair wrecked from whatever the hell they'd been doing. Makeup smeared across her face like a careless afterthought. The oversized white shirt draped and clung in all the places meant to be noticed.
The whole thing looked like a cheap, badly scripted scene ripped from some low-budget Hollywood knockoff.
Why was I going after her? He was just as guilty for this pathetic performance.
Her face lit up when she saw me. "Hi! Nice to see you again! I'm Adrianna." She chirped like we were at a brunch date and stuck out her hand.
Her naivete might've been cute if I hadn't known exactly where that hand had been.
I stared at it. My face twisted into pure disgust.
"I'm not feeling very nice today, and meeting you wasn't exactly on my bucket list." I let the words hit without a shred of softness.
She went pale and yanked her hand back, fidgeting with the hem of the shirt like the fabric could shield her from the look I aimed her way.
"Where's Hector?" I hissed.
Right on cue, he appeared like a demon summoned from hell.
Damp hair. A towel slung low on his hips. Water trailing down a chest he had no fucking business having-especially in a life that now included her.
