Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75737 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
"What is she up to?" I asked as I opened the door, finding Angelo sitting there at the desk eight screens in a semi-circle around him, the desk littered with coffee cups and energy drink cans.
"Looking at numbers on the containers and then shining a flashlight into the top corners of containers. For what reason, I don't have a fucking clue."
"Where is she?" I asked, eyes scanning the containers.
"Far left over by the shit that came in from South America yesterday."
"Alright," I said, turning to walk back out. "Call me with updates if she moves."
With that, I nodded to Leandro and Dario, watching them take off in the directions as I kept moving in straight toward the left side of the shipyard.
Just because it was a woman didn't mean we were going to let down our guards. These weren't the old days where it was a boys-only club, this criminal underworld. These were new times, and women could be—and often were—the heads of their own empires. And, in my experience, could be even more ruthless than their male counterparts.
Had I ever pulled a gun on a woman?
No.
But if it was about the survival of my business, I figured I would have to be willing to do that.
In my experience, people tended to do a lot of talking when they were staring down the muzzle of a gun held by someone in the local mafia. We were top of the criminal food chain for a reason.
And talking was what she would do when we found her. Because answers were what I was after.
What, exactly, in my port was so important that it was worth risking her life for?
Drugs was an easy answer. They were the most likely answer. They came through. I knew they did. The thing is, if you want to retain control of a port, you need not to rock the boat with the imports. The Russians, Chinese, Irish, the Yemeni mobs, along with every small organization with a large ego wanted the docks. Imports were where the money was. And it didn't come with the strife of running guns or kneecap breaking.
Everyone wanted to take what was ours.
Many had tried in the past.
Clearly, none had succeeded.
And none were going to on my watch.
Pausing at one line of containers, I took a deep breath, listening to the sounds of the waves, the sirens in the distance, and, finally, the telltale sound of feet hitting the pavement.
Then, the flash of light.
Two rows away.
Taking a deep breath, I turned in that direction.
Only to hear fucking Dario's phone ringing.
My eyes pressed close as I let out a silent sigh, preparing for the inevitable chase that was sure to follow now.
And I would be the one who would be doing the chasing. Leandro was too old. Dario had a bum knee from high school football. I got up at the crack of dawn every morning to clear my head. And prepare my body for this possibility.
The light clicked off.
The footsteps paused.
Then began again, faster.
"Here we go," I grumbled, breaking into a run.
Clearly, whoever this was, she'd been hanging around the docks more than I had lately. She weaved in and out of rows, sidestepping dead-ends I didn't know existed.
How long had she been hanging around without being seen?
That was a question for Angelo when all this was done. Someone was dropping the fucking ball.
I caught sight of a body as it whipped around a fast corner. Tall, long-legged, long, dark hair flowing. That was it, though, no distinguishing characteristics to go on if she got away from me. And, it seemed, she was going to do just that.
Within five minutes, we'd circled back around, my car in the center of the nearly abandoned lot.
I'd somehow missed the tiny car parked by the side of the dumpster. Seeing her freedom, her body pushed forward, and with the distance already between us, there was no catching up to her as she jumped in, turned it over, whipping her hair back over her shoulders, giving me my first good look.
I didn't know who she was, but she was fucking gorgeous.
That dark hair tossed around an angular face—dark brows, tan skin, high cheekbones, oversized lips.
She was lean and fit in black jeans and an olive tank top, her breasts heaving a bit as she tried to even out her breathing.
Her gaze held mine for a short moment, eyes not victorious like you might expect after a foot chase that left her in the lead. No, they were defeated.
But only for a second. Because then she slammed her foot on the gas, and peeled off.
"Fuck, I thought for sure you'd have her," Dario said coming up beside me a moment later, huffing, hobbling.
"I would have if you had turned off your phone," I told him, tucking my gun away, feeling the sweat trickling down my back.