Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 115964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
A simple room.
A bed. A desk. I had some clothes in the closet. Sneakers if I wanted to exercise. A phone. And some books. I liked to have maybe two or three. Wherever I was, I got a library card. I’d been eyeing one of those e-readers, but I hadn’t made the jump yet.
Simple meant survival in this life. I liked to survive.
The girls that came over last night were gone, so after getting ready for the day, I went to the kitchen for coffee. I’d left the door open after I went back, figuring if Raize needed something, he’d holler or show up.
After a little while he showed up. He stood in the hallway, not even coming into my doorway, dressed in his typical uniform: dark jeans, a shirt, and a leather jacket. The jacket and jeans were always frayed, having that worn-in look, and the shirts changed. Some days it was a Henley. Other days, a T-shirt. And the colors were either white, gray, or black.
I’d never seen him in anything else.
His hair was always the same, too. Cropped close on the sides with the top just long enough to have some volume. He ran his fingers through it, and that was it. It was a mess, but it worked for him.
Today it was jeans and a gray Henley. No leather jacket. And he had sunglasses on.
He checked his phone once he had my attention. “I reached out to Bronski’s boss. We have a meet with him in thirty.” He put his phone away and slid his sunglasses down so his eyes could meet mine. He studied me. “You’re gonna have to talk. You good with that?”
Talk?
Fuck.
I knew what he meant, and I looked away in response.
“Hey.” He raised his voice, but I looked back and he lowered it to normal. “I killed Bronski’s guy, and that means Bronksi could claim you as his or go to war. I don’t want war with that fucker, but he stepped to me when he sent that guy in the first place. I don’t work that way, and I’m not done using you, so that means you gotta talk. I’m asking now. Can you handle that?”
I swallowed over the knot in my throat. “Yeah. I’ll talk.”
Fuck, I’d talk.
I hated that shit, which was ironic considering that’s the entire reason I’d signed up for this life. Talking. Snitching. I hated it. It always felt wrong unless it was against a guy like Bronski, but even then, my stomach still felt sick.
“It’s not the police,” Raize reminded me. “Deal with it.”
Right. Deal with it. Easy for him to say. He had a dick and I didn’t think a lot of women were forcing him to put it in their vaginas.
But whatever.
Talk.
Fine.
Fuck.
I’d have to talk.
I sighed as Raize headed for the kitchen, hollering, “Let’s go, Jake.”
I followed, and Henchman Now-One swung in line, shoving his gun behind his back as he joined us from the living room. We left like that, Raize, Henchman Now-One (or Jake, since I knew his name now), and me bringing up the rear. Raize had other staff, and they were staying in the house. Their job was to bag the blow and watch so no one stole it. Me and Henchman Now-One were Raize’s traveling team, but I knew we’d have another guy joining us within a couple hours.
There was a job opening.
We went to a house, and—no shock here—it was surrounded by guards. Anyone who was anyone had security, but as we parked the car and we got out, I noted that these guards looked Russian.
I felt a tickle that ran down the length of my spine, waiting, pooling at the end.
Every sense in me heightened to full alert as we were led through the door, down a hallway, and into a back office. Music came from elsewhere in the house, but it was muffled. I could hear people. Conversations. The clinking of glasses. Footsteps. Heels on the floor. Wafts of cigar and other smoke in the air.
There were two men in the office. One stood at the desk, waiting as the other, sitting behind the desk, wrote something down. As we walked in, two guards entered behind us. I noted that Henchman One remained outside—Jake.
The standing guy gave us a glance, but soon went back to waiting, his hands at his side, his head down.
He reminded me of a soldier.
The guy behind the desk looked up as well, then finished and handed the piece of paper to the waiting guy. He took off, and the door closed behind him.
The guy behind the desk leaned back, his eyes hooded. He was young, maybe early thirties. Mid thirties.
I was bad at guessing ages. Everyone looked older than they were in this world. A fourteen year old looked like a thirty year old, but this guy truly did seem in his thirties. Dark hair combed back. Business suit.