Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65593 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
“Russian mafiya.”
“Okay, so the forty grand is before or after the value of your car gets knocked off?”
“Before.”
I pace some more. “How did this happen?”
“I’ve been playing poker with them for a while. I used to win big. But… my luck turned,” he says, as if that explains or excuses being forty grand in debt to the Russian mob.
“Your luck turned,” I repeat in disbelief. “When did your luck turn? How long have you been accumulating this debt? I mean, is it one night’s worth, or—”
“A few months. They stopped letting me in a month ago because I was under water. I’ve been working on a plan but—”
I cock my head. “And that plan is?”
Zane doesn’t meet my eye. He gives a half-hearted shrug.
“So you don’t really have a plan?”
“No.”
“And how long did they give you to pay off this debt?”
He shrugs again. “They didn’t say. I guess today was a hurry-up warning.”
“A hurry-up warning.”
I go to the kitchen and wrap an ice pack in a towel and bring it to him. “I can’t believe this.”
He takes the ice pack but doesn’t put it on his swollen face. “I know.”
“I mean, after dad—” My voice cracks.
“I know.”
I can’t help it, the tears start falling. I snatch the ice pack from his hands and hold it to his bruised cheekbone, but he jerks away. “Zane, I can’t take this. It’s too much, okay? I couldn’t deal if something happened to you too.”
“Nothing’s going to happen to me,” he tries to placate me. “These guys aren’t that bad. I’m going to figure out how to get them the rest of their money, and I won’t play again. Okay?”
I sniff. “How?”
“I don’t know. Is there any way we could use the trust?”
“No,” I snap. I knew he’d ask me for that. “It’s for education expenses only. Do you know how lucky you are Dad left that intact when he died?”
“Okay, okay. Just checking.” He tries to get to his feet and falls to his knees instead.
“Fuck, Zane!” I lurch forward and catch his arm. “Come on. I’m taking you to the hospital.”
2
Nikolai
The game is in full swing by eleven. We have a suite in a posh hotel where I have one table, seven players. I’m satisfied—the house has already made thirty grand, and I have a buyer lined up for Zane’s Mustang.
A knock sounds at the door, and I shoot a glance at my twin, Dima, who’s in town for the weekend, as I go to open it. Oleg flanks me, as my muscle. Dima reaches for the pistol in his waistband. We’re all more cautious since the incident with the Feds last month. Getting shot at one of my games isn’t the way I want to go. Dying young has been a possibility since the day my brother and I joined the bratva, but I’d rather go out in glory than from a pot-shot taken by a trigger-happy kid.
I crack the door to peer out.
“I’m here to see Nikolai,” a female voice announces.
“Oh, hell no,” I say, when I take in the small but mighty female standing outside. I recognize her from the photo at her apartment—Zane’s sister.
She preemptively thrusts her hand through the crack in the door before I can close it.
I may be a dick, but I’d never smash a woman’s fingers. I’m also not about to let her into the hotel suite to kill the vibe. I open the door enough to step outside, forcing her to back up into the hallway.
She’s adorably angry—all five foot two of her. Her chestnut hair is pulled up into a high, thick ponytail, and her golden eyes spark with fire. Bronze freckles dot her nose and cheekbones, matching the reddish lights in her hair.
Oleg looms in the doorway behind me, drawing her gaze, which I dislike for some reason.
“I’ve got this,” I murmur to him in Russian, leaving her in the dark about what I said, and Oleg retreats and shuts the door.
She puts her hands on her hips and raises her brows. “I’m Chelle Goldberg. Sister of the guy you put in the hospital today?”
“I know who you are,” I say mildly, advancing on her, just to see if she’ll retreat or hold her ground.
She holds her ground, which I find even more adorable.
“Tell me Zane did not give you the location for this game because that kid does not need another ass-kicking from me right now.”
“No,” she snaps, thrusting her chin up. “I saw the text message on his phone. While he was lying on a hospital bed.”
I roll my eyes. “Zane did not require a trip to the hospital, Freckles. The only thing the ER would do for him would be to hand out some pain meds, which a guy with substance abuse issues doesn’t need.”
That steals her thunder and her breath. She blinks at me, like my words gave her an unpleasant shock. A twinge of sympathy niggles in.