Read The Token 8: Kiki: A Billionaire Dark Romantic Suspense for Free Online Page B

phone carefully on the table.
    The bell chimes again.
    I hope it's not him .
    My heartbeats pile on top of each other like a game of Jenga.
    I desperately want it to be Chet.
    My feet carry me the short distance, and I open the door, peeking from behind it.
    Roses sprout from a deeply cut, heavy looking crystal vase.
    Eyes look over the top of the inky petals.
    “Miss Kandace King,” a bored sounding dude asks.
    I bob my head, clearing my throat. “Yes?”
    “Sign for these please.”
    He thrusts a paper and pen toward me, and I sign it as he pushes past me.
    Dick.
    He turns and walks back to the door.
    I begin to close it, and he moves through it again.
    A second vase of roses appear on the kitchen table.
    I feel my eyes bug a little on his third trip.
    “How—how many are there?” I ask, feeling oxygen deprived.
    He rolls his eyes to me and shrugs. “Just three.”
    Just three .
    “Have a nice day,” he calls over his shoulder.
    I quietly shut and latch the door. My hands tingle with delayed adrenaline as I turn and face what the delivery guy set on my table.
    Three identical vases sit in a loose triangle.
    The roses are striking—bold.
    All black.
    I see as I step closer that there's a cream-colored one centered in each of the three bouquets. It looks like a spot of innocence in all that inky black. A cream flower for each time we had sex. What does all this cloak-and-dagger shit mean?
    Who gave me black roses?
    I know the answer before I look at the card.
     
    Sin
     
    Just the one word. It says who sent them.
    It says what we did.
    It tells what we'll do.
    Unless I stop it now.
    In the center of the vases lies a slim velvet box, also black.
    I can't help the sweat that instantly beads on my upper lip.
    I finger the top of the box slowly, though I know I'll open it. I tap the crushed velvet once with my finger.
    I crack the lid, and the spring hinge pops open with a snap.
    A smartphone lies nestled inside like a coiled snake. My brows knit.
    What?
    A smooth ding sounds like a chime inside crystal, and I flinch.
    I drag my finger across the screen, and an image of my breast floats to the top.
    A set of perfect teeth marks make a ring around the nipple.
    He took a photo of my tit while I slept.
    I snatch my hand away as my arousal dampens my pants.
    My breath hitches in my throat.
    I lower myself into the chair and weep.

NINE
    Chet
     
    I press send, and the lovely image of my ownership zings into the ether.
    To be viewed by Kandace.
    A wide grin stretches my face, and I lean back in my solid chair, the leather so new my office smells like a biker's shop.
    I slide my phone inside my breast pocket.
    They're matching. I have one phone just for Kandace, and she for me.
    Excellent.
    I have not sent any words. Well, if I don't count my nickname on the card.
    A very romantic gesture by my standards. I have never sent a woman flowers. It is strange, but somehow right.
    My cell buzzes, and I feel the coolness of the phone I share with Kiki.
    My hand moves to the other. It vibrates in my hand with a text from Mick.
     
    Mick : want to ride?
     
    A handful of seconds slide by.
     
    Me: yes.
    Mick: be there soon.
     
    I don't answer. I don't need to. Mick understands me. He has always understood. He's the bridge between so much of my past and present.
    I think of Kandace—possibly my future.
    Just the thought of her underneath me, the taste of her flesh deep inside my mouth brings an instant hard-on to painful attention.
    Three times weren't enough. I don't know what would be.
    I move through my large home to the bedroom to change. A suit will not do.
     
    *
     
    Mick pulls up on his hog, and I smirk. He makes fun of my Jap bike, but mine doesn't leak or spit heat, and it starts like a wet dream every time.
    Speed isn't an issue, mine is faster than my needs. Which have always been many.
    His red hair, barely more than brown, stands out against the dim gray bowl of the sky.
    Mick's outfitted in chaps, a leather jacket, and