Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 74589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Nolan puts the car in gear. “Where’s he live?”
“Balmwood neighborhood.”
“That’s not far. Decent place too.”
“He’s sleeping in an RV parked out back.”
He laughs and starts driving. “Does the HOA know? Wait, don’t tell me, the ORB’s blackmailing them too?”
“I don’t know and I don’t care.”
“Typical fucking ORB.” He shakes his head, grinning like this is no big deal, and I wonder if it really isn’t. Last I heard, Nolan got out of prison and threw himself deeper into the Valverde Famiglia, and in the intervening years, he went from mid-level soldier to high-level capo. That’s the rumor, anyway—nobody actually knows the truth because nobody’s supposed to be talking about it at all. I only know what I know from snippets here and there, and only because of my past with him and his people.
But he does own at least one strip club, along with several bars, and that means he’s somebody around here, gangster or not.
“You didn’t bring anyone with you?” I ask, looking into the back seat. I hoped he’d have at least a few guys to cover his back.
“I don’t need anyone.”
“ORB is no joke. I know you’re a big, bad gangster now, but you’re doing it again, you’re taking it all on yourself and—”
He slams on the brakes and stops short at a traffic light. I let out a yelp and glare at him, but he’s not smiling, only staring straight ahead.
“Let’s get something straight. We haven’t spoken since I went to prison, and there’s a reason for that. There are people in my organization that still want to see you dead, and if they knew I was helping you with this problem, I’m not sure I could stop the repercussions. Do you understand?”
My heart does a double patter and I have to grip my thighs. My fingers dig into my flesh and I try to calm myself down but too many old memories, all of them bad, flit through my mind like banshee fireflies.
“I understand. You’re here for yourself.”
“Now you get it.” He takes a breath and starts driving. “What’s this guy’s name, anyway?”
“Jaxson Gray. That’s Jaxson with an ‘x’.”
He shakes his head. “They all want to be straight out of that motorcycle TV show, what was it called?”
“Sons of Anarchy.”
“That’s the one. Bunch of fucking idiots. I’m shocked they’re not all in prison, but then I remember they give the local sheriffs plenty of money to turn a blind eye, and the sheriff pretends like nothing’s happening so long as they’re not dealing their meth to the rich white folks in East Cobb, only the poor whites and the blacks that live on the wrong side of the dividing line. Corrupt assholes.”
“I didn’t know you cared. Seems funny, coming from you. Caring about police corruption like you’re not benefitting from it too.”
“We don’t sell meth. Only weed and opiates.”
“Opiates are worse.”
“People need to eat.” He shakes his head. “Doesn’t matter. I know the ORB and I know its members. We’ve been dealing with them for a while now. I can handle this on my own.”
I shrug like it’s no big deal but I’m worried. We lapse into silence, a strangely comfortable silence like the old days when he’d read comics in the shade of those huge pine trees and I’d flip through tattered old romances I stole from the library looking for the steamy scenes. Sometimes I’d read the extra spicy ones out loud and we’d both laugh like we thought it was the funniest thing in the world, but I saw the way he’d look at me, and I know he saw the way I’d look at him like we were both wondering how it’d feel to actually do all those filthy things in those books. We never took that step, but there were nights when I’d lie awake in my little bed thinking about those scenes, playing them out in my head, except I’m the heroine and he’s the hero, and I let him ravish me.
I wonder if he ever thought about what we nearly had all those years in prison. I know I did, almost every day.
Nolan pulls into Jaxson’s neighborhood. Most folks live in a neighborhood in Georgia, that’s just how it was set up. Some of them are huge and wealthy with amenities like pools and tennis courts, and some are pretty small, just a cluster of houses thrown up in the nineties. Jaxson lives in the latter, barely a neighborhood at all, and Nolan slows to a stop outside of the house.
“Who lives here?” he asks softly.
“Another ORB guy, Jaxson’s cousin.”
“Is that cousin home?” He cranes his neck and I catch a glimpse of the RV parked on the lawn behind the house.
“I have no clue, honestly.”
“All right. Stay here.” He opens the door and I don’t listen. He frowns at me, head tilted to the side. “I said stay.”