Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Then again, they’d tried to move him out. Set him up in Harmon’s old place next to the clubhouse.
He’d been miserable, packed his stuff, and taken a cab back to his apartment.
But if you went into his apartment, it looked like a college kid lived there on a budget he spent wholly on fast food, energy drinks, and coffee.
The only things he had of any worth were his devices. His entire computer setup with multiple monitors, a sound system, and his laptops.
So bribing him with extra money didn’t mean dick. But Booker’s praise and appreciation always lit a fire under his ass.
We made our way to the Glades about fifty minutes later, obeying traffic laws since we were all packing, and didn’t need issues with the law while trying to save Maeve.
With no word back from Arty, we decided to split up.
Seeley and I jumped in Cato’s car, leaving Che, McCoy, and Huck in the SUV, everyone driving around looking for… something. Anything.
We drove down endless driveways, looking for the car, followed random skid marks on the road with the hopes they might lead us to her.
All for nothing another hour later.
I was so lost in my own anxiety and anger that I jumped when my phone rang.
“Kemp Cove,” Arty’s voice met my ear. He’d never been one for pleasantries.
“Kemp Cove,” I said aloud to Cato behind the wheel.
“Another thirty-five or forty from here,” Seeley said as he reached for his phone to fill in Huck, who we hadn’t seen in a long time, didn’t have any idea which direction they were in now, who might be closer, get there first.
“Okay, Arty. What else?” I asked.
“There’s this backroad. Camela Street. Nothing but rental cabins around. No one lives in the area year-round. I can’t narrow it down further, I just saw the car turning down there several times. Too often to be a coincidence. Must be staying there somewhere.”
“You are a God among men, Arty,” I told him. “Thanks for—“ I started, but realized he’d already hung up.
“Huck said they’re about twenty minutes further out than we are,” Seeley said. “He wants us to find the place, but wait for him.”
I nodded.
But I wasn’t going to do that.
I wasn’t going to leave Maeve in Natalya’s hands for one single moment longer than I needed to.
Roughly one hour later, we came across a gravel driveway that led deep into a tree line that I knew would eventually open up to the water.
And I just… knew.
“Stop,” I demanded, reaching for my gun. “Park here,” I demanded. “We have to go on foot.”
“We’re supposed to wait for Huck,” Seeley said, but he was already climbing out. Because if this was Ama, he wouldn’t be waiting in the car for backup either.
So, hugging the trees, avoiding the crunch of the gravel, we made our way up the driveway.
Right to an opening.
And there was the car.
And a cabin on stilts over the water.
And a row and airboat stuck to the slip on the other side.
“Don’t fucking do it,” Seeley demanded, knowing what I was going to do.
Dive into that murky-ass, alligator-infested water, and swim across to save my girl.
I left them on the shore, deciding if they were going to follow.
Maeve was just a couple of yards away.
I was going to get her.
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
Maeve
So… Donovan had worked for the mafia… and the Russian version of the mafia called the Bratva.
That was so absurd that I almost wanted to laugh. It sounded like the plot of a very dramatic TV show or movie.
But Natalya was nothing if not earnest as she told me about him being a wheelman, about how he’d replaced her working for some man named Iosif.
If I was reading into things correctly, Iosif was almost like a father to Natalya who, clearly, loved the man. And was maybe a little unhealthily devoted to him, considering they weren’t actually related.
“I don’t understand,” I admitted when she paused in her story.
“What? What don’t you understand?” she asked in that sharp way that just seemed like her usual cadence. I guess, when you were harboring so much hurt and anger inside of you, it manifested in small ways. Like her tight posture. Like the quick, ragged way of speech.
“I don’t see how Donovan is to blame,” I admitted. “He took your job, but you were already fired.”
“I would have gotten back!” Natalya snapped. “Iosif was misled. I had proof of that, but that snake slipped in. And he betrayed Iosif.”
“He was spying, right?”
“Yes.”
“But… but what came of that? Did the mafia start problems?”
“No,” she admitted. “I got word to Iosif about Donovan’s betrayal.”
How was Donovan still alive if the leader of a mafia-type organization found out he’d been spying?
How was he still alive to this day? Weren’t those sorts of things, like, death sentences? No matter how long it was since the event happened?