Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 280(@200wpm)___ 224(@250wpm)___ 187(@300wpm)
“He has a point. You got shot four times.”
“Six times, actually.” I touched the spots on my body like a prayer. “Drive-by shooting. It was apparently meant for him, but I stepped out of the house at the wrong time, and boom. They decided to settle for his daughter instead.”
“That’s not supposed to happen,” Mona said, frowning. “We’re not supposed to be fair game.”
“It’s not a game to them though, to guys like that. Those assholes don’t care if we’re innocent or not. They’ll hurt us if it gets them what they want.”
“I’m sorry that happened to you.”
I waved it away and stared out over the yard. I didn’t remember much from the aftermath, but I remembered it happening vividly: the black truck that pulled up, the guns that appeared in the windows, the way I screamed, the pain as it flared, the weird, almost calm knowledge that I was going to die. Then black, then waking up in the hospital, in pain, very, very angry, and all the rehabilitation, the surgery, the bullshit. It took months to get me back to the way I am now, and when I finally thought my life could restart, my father sent me away.
I hated him. I think I still do.
“What do you think of Ren?” I asked, suddenly desperate to change the subject.
She frowned a little, but went with it. “I don’t really know him, honestly.”
“Really? I mean, he works for your husband.”
“He’s not one of the regulars. He’s not made.”
“That’s what he said, but I didn’t really believe him.”
She seemed to hesitate for a moment then shifted toward me. “I know him by reputation.”
“And what’s that?”
“Do you know the phrase, honor among thieves?”
I nodded. “Sure, always sounded like bullshit.”
“I think supposedly lived like that. He’s an honorable thief, or as much as that sort of thing can exist these days. He steals from the rich.”
“And gives to the poor?” I said, finishing the phrase.
She laughed. “Oh, god, no, I’m sure he keeps it all for himself.”
I laughed with her. “Still, that’s not the impression I get from him.”
“What’s your impression?”
“He seems… distant. Arrogant. I don’t know.”
“They’re all like that,” she said, shaking her head. “They have to be. It’s part of the trade. But I think if you got to know him, you’d start to see that other side.”
“What side’s that?”
“The honorable one.” She waved a hand at me and laughed. “But honestly, I don’t know if any of this is true, it’s just what I’ve heard about him.”
“What did Vincent say? I’m sure he told you something before letting the guy come live with you.”
“Vincent said I can trust him, and that he’ll protect you. That he’s the kind of man who does his job.”
I nodded and looked down at my hands. I thought of him stealing from that obnoxious guy at the bar the other night, and the way he smiled at me, seemingly so excited and happy about it—and how oddly impressed I was, how I wanted him to do it again, but was afraid.
It was a rush. I couldn’t pretend like I didn’t feel it. There was a rush in me when he stole that wallet, a rush of fear, a rush of excitement, and I wanted more of it. That scared me almost as much as everything else.
“I guess I’m still getting used to him,” I said, feeling stupid and lame. I knew she could see right through me, but I wasn’t sure if I cared. Mona seemed kind, and if anyone would understand, it was her.
She was a civilian. I didn’t know much about her, but she was a writer and a journalist, which was the strangest thing in the world. Mobsters didn’t normally marry women in the press, and yet Vincent had. I could see why: she was beautiful and charming and kind, and gave off an interesting vibe, but also had a touch of ambition to her. They were only brief impressions, but I had the feeling I was right, like I truly knew her or something.
“Well, I hope he doesn’t have to do a thing.”
“Me too.” She smiled at me. “I’m glad you’re here, you know. I was getting pretty lonely.”
“I’m sure I’m getting in your way. I mean, you have a book to write.”
She laughed. “I’ve been writing that book for years. I’m sure I’ll be writing it for a few more.”
“Why don’t you finish it?”
She thought about that for a moment. “I think I don’t want to,” she said. “I like having it to work on, like a project that’ll never end. So many things end, but it’s nice that doesn’t have to.”
“I think I understand that.”
“Do you work on anything? Write, dance, sing?”
“No,” I said, shaking my head. “No special talents.”
“Come on, that’s not true.”
“I can juggle.”
“That’s a talent.”
“Not well.”