Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55956 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“Fine. I’ll transfer a grand into Pop’s account. Refill his meds and buy some groceries. I’ll call the home medical care service and have them lineup another nurse, but you can’t keep firing them, do you hear me?”
“Yeah, yeah. But maybe you should tell them to send someone younger and prettier next time…and less bitchy.”
“Keep yur fecking hands off the nurse, asshole,” I shout, hating the reflexive street-gang accent in my voice. Five years of hard work to leave Tink McKloskey back in the streets of Boston and all it takes is a five-minute conversation with my brother to breathe life back into her.
“You’re really no fun anymore, you know?” He has the nerve to laugh at me.
The sad thing is that he’s not wrong. When was the last time I really did have fun?
“I’ve got to go,” I announce, rejecting the urge to feel sorry for myself.
“Thanks, Tink.”
I throw my phone down on the couch like it’s a hot coal, reverting to my habitual pacing back and forth in the tiny space that is my kitchen, dining, and living room all in one. Christ, I wish I didn’t care about my helpless family, but the fact is I do care, and they know it. And worse, they are pros at taking advantage of the fact.
Reluctantly picking up my phone again, I’m just finishing transferring the cash to Pop’s account when my cell vibrates again. This time it’s Mia calling.
“Hey.” Despite not wanting to talk to anyone, I answer.
“We need to talk.”
I can hear excitement in her voice.
“So, talk,” I answer, ready for some good news for a change.
“Not on the phone. Can you come over to my place?”
Dammit. The absolutely last thing I want to do is leave my apartment.
“You can’t come here?”
“Not this time,” she bites back, agitation in her voice.
Taking a deep cleansing breath, I finally agree. “Fine. Let me throw on some clothes and hail a cab. I’ll be over as soon as I can.”
This time when I end the call and throw my phone on the couch, I throw it with enough velocity that it bounces and crashes to the floor. Would serve me right if I lost my shit and ended up breaking my real phone. I couldn’t give a shit if I break one of the dozen burner phones I use when actively working, but the last thing I need is to have to buy another iPhone.
Ten minutes later as I lock my door behind me and start the trek down the flight of steps to the ground floor, I have to fight the urge to go back upstairs, throw on my comfy PJ’s, crack open the pint of emergency chocolate mint ice cream I hide in the back of my freezer, and hibernate under the covers.
Instead, I turn the collar of my jacket up against the cold fall breeze as I glance up and down my street looking for an open taxi.
“Ms. Key.”
The sound of someone calling my name from inside the black sedan parked in front of my building has me thrusting my hand inside my purse to grab my handgun. I stand frozen on the sidewalk, waiting for whoever is hidden behind the tinted windows to show themselves.
As the back passenger window goes down farther, a vaguely familiar older man comes into view. I rack my brain to remember where I’d seen him before. It isn’t until he speaks again that it clicks into place.
“I have a proposition I’d like to discuss with you, Ms. Key. Would you do me the honor of taking a ride with me so I can share a few more details with you privately?”
My sense of self-preservation demands I say no. I’m not in the habit of getting into cars with strange men, especially criminals I don’t know and have never worked with—but remembering this is the same man who’d been sitting with Atlas at The Rooftop last week has piqued my interest. I’d arrived just in time to hear Atlas turning down a job this guy had offered him.
Part of me suspected if Atlas turned it down, then I should be running in the other direction myself, but unfortunately, I wasn’t in the position to turn down any jobs right now. More importantly, it would feel fucking fantastic to handle a job that the competition was too afraid to handle. That was exactly the kind of job that would get me the recognition and respect I have been working so hard to scratch out.
Shouting down my inner warnings, I take a few steps to close the distance to the opening car door. Before I get in, I lean down and confirm, “I only have a few minutes, but I’ll listen while your driver takes me to my meeting in Hell’s Kitchen, if that works for you.”