Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
She feels like she’s mine already, and I can’t have that. I want her gone. Need her gone. Out of my life and my mind. She’s a distraction I don’t need right now. A wildcard. Also, she’s too young for me anyway. Twenty-two years old. A seven-year difference, but in my world, it may as well be three decades.
My thumb traces over the photo before I push it aside. What I really need to see lays within the guts of the file. My eyes scan over the documents, strangely riveted by what I find.
The girl is tough, I’ll give her that much. Turns out she had a reason to be. A ward of the state at thirteen, followed by a slew of foster parents before she ran away. What the hell does a thirteen-year-old girl have to do to survive on her own? I’ve no doubt I wouldn’t like to know.
Her father was an underground boxer. Done in a back alley and left with the mark of the Russians. That’s what the file says, but I know the Russians very well. The sign carved into Jack Wilder’s forehead was the brand of only one man. Ivan Malikoff.
Fecking prick.
This is why he wants her dead. The Russians don’t have quite as many standards as our outfit. Some of the smaller factions do, but the whole umbrella encompasses more members than most countries have armies. It’s more of an anything goes sort of unit, depending on who’s playing the role of governor.
But it sets me to wondering. Is this why the girl is trying to get a job here? It literally felt like someone was playing a goddamn joke on me when Ronan told me she was sitting out in my club. Since my meeting with Detective James I’ve had eyes on her. So for her to walk right into Slainte and demand a job… it was the last thing I ever saw coming. Everyone knows the Russians visit here often. It’s common knowledge. Is she trying to avenge her father’s death? Or would she even have a clue that Ivan was the one who did him in?
These are questions I’d like the answers to. When I pick up her photo and stare at it one last time, I tell myself that’s why I’m letting her into our world. I don’t trust her, there’s no bones about that. I’ll need to keep a tight leash on her.
I text Ronan to come to my office. Efficient as always, he appears two minutes later.
“Aye?”
He stands in the doorway, looking at me like I’ve gone a bit mad. I suppose I have.
“The girl,” I tell him. “Put the word out over the city. Mackenzie Wilder is under the protection of the MacKenna Syndicate.”
Ronan’s eyes flash, but wisely he chooses not to argue. The man rarely does. He’d rather pout about it for days instead.
“Anything else?”
I sit back and drum my fingers over my desk. “Also, tell the lads that nobody is to touch or talk to her.”
Chapter Seven
Mackenzie
The room I’m staying at in Roxbury is one of those crappy pay by month sort of joints. It’s got an entire smorgasbord of seedy characters hanging around, and the accompanying strange noises throughout the night. In fact, I’m pretty sure the room next door to mine is where all the johns in the city are coming to get their rocks off. But it’s cheap and rat infested and, well, I’ve slept in a lot worse places. Nobody knows I’m here, not even Scarlett.
And yet when there’s a knock on my door at six o’ clock sharp, I’m not in the least surprised. When I squint through the peephole, Lachlan and one of his men are loitering on the other side. I had no doubts he’d be checking out my digs, but I didn’t expect him to come straight to the door.
I open it with a smile and lean against the doorjamb. “Well would you look at that?” I muse. “Fancy seeing you here, Crow. Stalking me?”
He pushes right past me, doing a quick once over of my room. “That mouth is going to get you in trouble.”
“I’ve got no doubt about that,” I agree.
He gestures to his man, who promptly goes about the business of checking my room for bugs. I watch without protest as he waves the device over every crevice he can think of. This is part of Lachlan’s tough guy front, letting me know there are no boundaries in his world. If he wants to walk into my room and have his lackeys go through my shit, he will. My notes are hidden in the bottom of a box of tampons. The chances of them actually looking through this is nil. Men are pretty predictable in that aspect.
I feign disinterest while I take a seat and let my eyes roam over Lachlan. He’s wearing low-slung jeans, a black button up and a leather jacket again. Complete with scuffed leather boots and a chain that hangs from his hip to his pocket. He definitely has that whole dark lord of the underworld look going for him. His body is muscular without being too bulky and when he moves, his shirt clings to his abs, stretching the material. That’s something I’ve always enjoyed looking at on a man. The squareness of their hips. Makes me wonder what he’d look like out of the clothes.
A thought I shake off rather quickly.
When I look up, Lachlan’s eyes flash. He’s caught me staring, and he knows it too. I shift in my chair and turn my attention towards the still open door of the motel room.
“It’s clean,” his guy declares.
Lachlan makes another gesture, and the guy disappears out the door, leaving just the two of us in the stifling room.
“Are you done yet?” I ask.
“Not nearly.” He stalks over and leans down into my space, tilting my face back to him.
Shit. He’s so close my heart is beating crazy fast. He really doesn’t have any sense of boundaries at all. And this kind of closeness… it freaks me out. But when I look into his eyes, I seem to forget all about that. Today they are the color of seafoam. Soft and alluring as he tries to pry out my deepest secrets.