Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 804(@200wpm)___ 643(@250wpm)___ 536(@300wpm)
“He tried to flush it?” Otto asks.
“No. He rammed it up his arse.” Danny smirks, glancing around the room, seeing everyone wince, no doubt their arseholes clenching like mine. “Apparently we need to do internals on our prey now.”
Everyone steps back.
“Are you telling me he was fucking himself with a phone?” I ask, grimacing.
Danny laughs, and it’s a full-on belly laugh, his palm landing on his desk to hold him up. That’s a psycho laugh. I’ve heard my own enough to recognize one. He composes himself, wiping under his eyes. “The question I have is how many calls did he make?” He holds the bag up again, and the tension in the room thickens, everyone’s eyes snapping to each other, wondering which lucky fucker is going to have the honor of handling it to find out who Spittle’s been calling. “Any offers?” Danny asks, giving everyone a moment of his eyes. “No?”
Brad steams through the door in full workout gear, his muscles still pulsing, his forehead pouring sweat. The toe of his trainer nudges Spittle’s head, sending it rolling a few feet across the floor. His eyes widen. “For fuck’s sake, Danny.”
“Good workout?” Danny asks, resting his arse on his desk.
“He’s ex FBI, for Christ’s sake.”
“He’s a fucking snake.” He pushes the butt of his cigarette into an ashtray. “He told The Bear I’m still alive.” He holds up the bag again. “He’s been making calls right under our fucking noses, and he ordered a psycho assassin to murder you, Brad.”
“Don’t talk about me like I’m not here,” I quip, resting back, enjoying the show.
“For fuck’s sake.” Brad yanks a towel from around his neck and wipes his face.
“You’re just pissed because you wanted to end him.”
“Yeah, I fucking did.” He snarls down at Spittle’s head, draws his foot back, and kicks it across the room, the power giving it some height.
“Fuck.” Danny ducks, and Spittle’s head ricochets off the wall behind him, leaving a sizable blob of blood on the paintwork. “You dickhead.”
Oh, Spittle. What a fucking mess he was in. “So what has The Bear got that we haven’t got?” I ask, resting an elbow on the arm of the couch, propping my head up, thinking. “Because there’s got to be an explanation for Spittle being so fucking stupid.” Everyone turns their eyes onto his head, looking at what being stupid gets you when you’re stupid around Danny Black. “I need to burn off some steam.” Balance. I need to stand on my head to clear my head. I get up and move toward the door.
“I’ll hold the pads first,” Danny says, dropping the phone back on his desk. “I don’t care who gets into that phone, but I want answers by tomorrow.” He looks at Brad. “Coming?”
“No, I’ve got to get to the Hiatus.” He pulls his T-shirt over his head. “I can’t fucking believe you’ve murdered Spittle without me.”
“Stop crying about it,” Danny says tiredly. “And someone find me his fucking son.” He catches up with me, and we walk side by side down the corridor to the foyer. “What’s going on with Beau’s uncle?” he asks.
“Stupid fuck tried to kill himself.” We reach the staircase. “Do I have a body yet?”
I don’t like the expression on Danny’s face. “Yeah, about that . . .”
“What about it?”
“They gave it to the sharks.”
That answers that, then. “Shit.”
“I’m sorry, mate. I did say I’d make sure no one finds it, as per your instruction.”
I shake my head, hoping to God my message has gotten through to Lawrence. “I need to check Beau. Meet you in the gym.”
“Sure,” he replies, heading for the kitchen. “Mum, can you take Daniel home?”
I take the steps two at a time and find Fury in the corridor.
“She’s awake. She went into his room,” he says, motioning to Lawrence’s door. “About five minutes ago.”
I nod and take the handle, pushing my way in quietly. She’s sitting on the edge of her uncle’s bed, holding his hand. When she looks up at me, I expect to see tears. Instead, I see hope. And then she smiles a little. “He’s okay,” she says over a swallow.
“Glad you’re feeling better.” I join Beau by the bed, taking a chair, then check my watch. “You have dinner with your father in an hour. You’d better get ready, you’ll have to leave soon.”
“Oh, I’m going to cancel.” She shakes her head vehemently, returning her attention to Lawrence. “Uncle Lawrence needs me here.”
I peek at Lawrence out of the corner of my eye, and his lips purse. He’s thinking exactly what I’m thinking. He’s thinking Beau just found the perfect excuse to cry off doing something she’s been avoiding for weeks. “Lawrence is fine.” I reach forward and knock her arm lightly, and she looks at me, cautious. She’s cottoned on that I’ve cottoned on. “Aren’t you, Lawrence?”