His Trophy Wife Is A Predator

ing water from his eye

d to push himself up from the wet grass. A spark of humi

plastic bottle into a

hoed loudly across th

m. Her face was compl

or a second ju

, conversational,

, a bitter insult sitti

ded, cutting him off, "we

ated. His breath hi

perately searching for a smirk, a twit

k, bottomless wells. They held no emotion

en's entire body violently shuddered. The last wa

d forward, clea

ers, the

sed her r

f her wrist, the slight lift of her chin-it wa

s throat. He felt a heavy, invisible weight press

hest expanded, suffocating him. If his brother's ruthless right-

back to Manhattan

ran toward the armored black SUV, his w

de started

SUV, the silence was

her eyes, resting her head. Her posture was so relaxed and domi

eat. He kept his head turned toward the window, but

p front, Chandler adjus

The cold sweat on his palms made

his encrypted iPad. He tapped the screen, bringing

angerous information. But a dark, calculating thought crept into his mind. He needed a knife to test the true depths of this terrifying woman. Braden's impulsive stupidity and fragile ego made him th

gers taking the device. He tapped

cal training facility at the base,

breath

egant efficiency of a phantom from an ancient, blood-soaked battlefield. She executed a series of archaic, devastating joint locks and brutal disarms that defied all conventional trai

d a heavy training dummy, twisted its arm into an unnatura

lently ripped dow

was still resting with her eyes closed. He felt h

ing intent toward the exact corner of the room where the security camera was hidden. She did not glare directly into the lens like a modern exhibitionist. Instead, her eyes swept over the space with the cold, indifferent aut

fingers w

his hands and crashed onto t

wly opene

device near her boots. The corner of her

up," sh

a master speaking t

like sandpaper. Without a single word of protest,