Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84181 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 421(@200wpm)___ 337(@250wpm)___ 281(@300wpm)
He huffs a laugh, pulling from his cigarette again. “He really gave you a swelled head,” he says through a cloud of smoke, voice thick. “I heard they called you Patrona. Boss . . .”
“Yeah. So?”
“They respect you? Enough not to kill me on sight if they see me tagging along with you?”
“They won’t shoot at me. If you’re by my side, they won’t kill you either.” I step forward, getting closer to his face. His nonchalant mood makes me not trust him. His eyes meet mine, his entire demeanor unwavering. “Don’t make me regret this,” I say through partially clenched teeth. “I know you know about the warrant and the prize for The Jefe’s capture. If that’s your plan, to turn him in, then—”
“Oh, please, fucking spare me,” he says, interrupting my sentence. “If there’s one thing I am good at, it’s keeping my business afloat and watching my own ass, not ruining my entire fucking reputation. Turning in The Jefe or even telling anyone where he is, is like me asking to die.” He steps back, shaking his head. “If you can’t trust me, why not just do this yourself?”
“If I had my own way there, I would.”
“There are trains, buses, taxis . . .”
“They aren’t fast enough, and they’re easily traceable. At least with a jet we can fly fast, ditch it, and run with a head start.”
“Our pilot could get arrested, fired, or even tossed in jail for flying there without permission.” He scoffs. “And all this because you want to run back to your master.”
“Oh, fuck you,” I spit at him. “Listen, I owe him this. I did something wrong, and I need to make up for it. I want to get back to him, and I’m not letting anything stop me, especially not a wannabe kingpin, Nicotera cousin of mine.”
Clark hisses through his teeth, a jeer that only annoys me. “Damn. Now that— that was a harsh one. A good one, but harsh as fuck.”
I roll my eyes and scoff. “You have to be high or something.”
“Just a little drunk.” He shrugs.
“Ugh.” I walk back inside, sitting on the bench at the bottom of the bed. Clark takes a few more puffs from his cigarette before putting it out. He shuts the doors and walks my way when he’s done, stopping in front of me.
“Look, I’ll get you to Mexico and to your precious Jefe, but only because every second you spend here puts my family at more and more risk. He started a fucking war, and my family isn’t going to pay for his mistakes if someone decides to come after you during it. If you’re there with him and they know it, they won’t come looking here. Trust me, I want you gone as soon as possible, but until that pilot gets back, we have to fucking wait. Threaten him all you want when you see him, but he has to get out of all of this alive.” He stares hard at me, his eyes glassy, serious. “Agree to that, and I’ll do everything I can to get you there.”
I stand up, holding his gaze. “Fine.”
He looks me over before walking to the bedroom door. Before he goes, he says, “This whole fucking arrangement better triple my income when it’s over.” The door clicks shut behind him, and I release a ragged breath, slouching back down on the bench, formulating the rest of my plan.
19
GIANNA
The next two days are a fucking drag.
Jen does her best to try and keep me distracted from the past, either by taking me for walks on the trail behind the house, or even making use of the hot tub at sunset. She even convinced me to make sugar cookies with her. Our ski resort trip is supposed to happen Saturday, but I’m afraid I won’t make that.
I feel awful, knowing she enjoys spending time with me. Skiing would be fun.
But I can’t.
I won’t settle.
Every single hour, I’m wondering what he could be doing. Is he even thinking about me? Was what he said in those voice recordings true? Does he love me? And if he does, why send me away so quickly? Why send me away without asking me what I truly wanted?
Around midnight, the second day after talking to Clark, there is a knock on the door of my terrace. I shoot to a stand, digging beneath the mattress for my gun. I walk to the door and pull the curtain aside.
No one is there . . . at first.
Clark steps from around the corner and into the light. I release a soft breath, unlocking and opening the door.
“What the fuck, Clark?”
“Pilot is home,” he says. “If we’re doing this, we do it now.”
“Why now?”
“He has a flight scheduled for my dad at 10 to go to Utah. We gotta get him and leave as soon as possible, before that flight.”