Total pages in book: 100
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
I blink back sudden tears. I shouldn’t be this emotional—it’s probably just the wine. “You already promised that, remember?”
“But I need you to hear it anyway.” He kisses my cheek. A fire lights in my core, a sizzling, burning want. “I’ll take care of you both, baby.”
Then he releases me. I take a step back, hands pressed against my chest. He’s looking at me like he’s a step from ripping off my clothes, clearing the table with a dramatic swipe of one arm, and fucking me raw right here in the dining room.
And if he does it, I’ll let him.
The moment hangs, the tension killing me, until he turns away and leaves me there, breathing hard, biting my lip to keep from screaming.
Chapter 19
Simon
The night wind’s cold against my neck. I’m hunkered down in my car in the parking lot of a fast food place. It’s past three in the morning and the place has been closed for a couple of hours now. The streets are empty and the lights in this part of town are mostly out. Driving through West Roseland, I saw more boarded-up homes, more smashed street signs, and more cars up on blocks than in most other neighborhoods in the city. And this place isn’t supposed to be all that bad.
None of that matters. I’m focused on a building across the street. It’s a brick structure, newly constructed in the last decade, with all the windows covered by heavy curtains and heavy bars over the front door. It looks dead, except there are lights on inside, and the parking lot behind it has seven cars in total, plus a few more on the street. It’s the only building in the whole area that’s clean and hasn’t been touched by graffiti.
I close my eyes and my blood pounds into my ears. I keep thinking about Emily’s story, about her father getting scammed, about all the shit he went through and all the shit she’s currently going through to make things right for him. That level of love, that level of loyalty, that’s fucking admirable.
And a part of me wants to punish the people responsible. I can’t know who it was for sure since the local scam trade’s been growing these past few years, but I can at least send a message.
Scamming old people won’t be tolerated. Not in my fucking city.
“You awake?” Davide’s voice comes over the radio I have tossed on the passenger seat. I peer out the window and spot him parked across the way in the street.
“I’m good,” I tell him. “How are the guys? Everyone ready?”
“They’re getting impatient.” There’s static from the walkie. “I think it’s time.”
I check my watch and nod to myself. At this point in the evening, the team inside that pristine building should be wrapped up for the day. They do most of their work in the afternoons, but they have a night team ready to take over in case any jobs require special attention. They must be busy right now, because there are more cars than I would’ve guessed.
Which pisses me off.
“Two minutes,” I radio Davide. “Get the guys ready to go.”
I walk through my preparations: gun loaded, body armor strapped, knives in place just in case shit goes really wrong. My phone’s in my pocket, but it’s powered off and the battery’s removed, just like everyone else on this mission. No cell tower pings, no paper trails.
Elation runs through me. It’s always like this before a big hit. But for the first time, I’m not thinking about myself.
I’m picturing Emily back home worrying her pretty little head off, wondering if I’ll come home to her in one piece.
And I’m thinking about her father giving away everything he had because a few good liars convinced him to take a chance on a dream.
I kick open my car door and close it. Around me, other cars come to life, as the team spreads out and surrounds the building. I spot Davide walking among the men, standing at least a head taller than everyone, his muscular and hulking frame like a demon straight from hell. I love my brother, but goddamn, he’s one scary motherfucker.
And he goes first. He always goes first. We line up outside the front door while one of our specialists, a guy named Antonio, picks the lock on the gate. It takes only a few seconds, but those seconds seem to last forever; a car could drive by at this moment, spot a dozen armed and armored men lined up on the sidewalk, and decide to call the cops. That’d be a real pain in the ass.
I meet Davide’s eye once Antonio’s done and give him a nod.
My brother yanks the door open. I drop to one knee, jerk the tab off a nondescript black canister, and roll it inside.