Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“Is this true, Leka? Is that girl your sister or some piece you’ve been grooming like a sick pedo since she was a kid?” Cesaro leans back, stretching an arm across the top of the leather banquette.
“She’s my sister,” I answer. Because if she’s not, she’s toast. She’ll be passed around this gang like a cigarette, smoked until she’s a stub and then crushed under someone’s boot heel.
“You telling me I can’t have something I want?” Cesaro asks.
It’s a question I can’t answer, so I don’t. If I say yes, I’m challenging his authority. If I say no, it’s acquiescing to his demands.
I assess the situation. I’ve a Glock strapped to my back with eleven bullets. I could take Cesaro. I could take his four goons here. From there, it would be up to whether Beefer would stand down or order everyone in here after me. Beefer sold out his own daughter for more power. He’d gun me down in a heartbeat.
The kitchen door creaks open. Holding my breath, I swing around, my hand on the butt of my gun, only to exhale in relief at the sight of Mason bringing out Cesaro’s dinner.
“Where’s the girl?” Cesaro demands.
“Ah, which one?” Mason plays dumb.
I could kiss that boy.
Cesaro screws up his face in annoyance. “Leka’s girl. Where is she?”
“Oh, her? She went out back and I haven’t seen her since. Did I do wrong?” The kid looks completely lost and I don’t know if it’s an act or sincere. It doesn’t matter. Bitsy’s gone. She’s got good instincts and knew that she should leave.
I drop my hand to my side and give a short bow to Cesaro. “If you don’t need anything more, I have to review the plan with the guys. We’ll want to map out the best route and do a dry run tomorrow.”
He grunts his acknowledgment and digs into his food.
I gather up Mason and push him in front of me so he’s not in the line of fire. I owe this kid. I owe him big. He’s too good of a person to fall in with us, but since he’s here, I might as well help him along.
“You’re on the crew tomorrow,” I tell him when we reach the kitchen.
“Really?” His eyes grow big.
“Really.”
He’s bursting with excitement but manages to contain it. Another mark in his favor. The door slams open again and Beefer strolls through.
“Leka, let’s talk.”
I follow Beefer outside. Two of our own guys are guarding the back. With a jerk of my head, I send them inside to warm up.
I wait for Beefer to light up his cigar before asking, “What’s up?”
“Why are you being a hard-ass about this? It’s one night. Cesaro’s real generous. He gave Camella her wheels, you know. She doesn’t regret it for a second. You saw her tonight. She was back here begging for more.”
I gape at Beefer. He’s lied to himself so long and so often that he has a completely fucked up view of what happened to Camella. That night ruined her. She’s never been the same since.
“It’s not happening.”
“What is it going to hurt? If it’s her first time, it might hurt a little, but Cesaro’s a good-looking man with a lot of experience. Women are falling all over themselves to be in his bed.”
“I’ll be dead before he lays a hand on Bit.”
Beefer rolls his eyes. “You’re building this up to be some dramatic thing when it doesn't have to be. You provide everything for her. You schooled her, put a roof over her head, clothes on her back, and what do you get in return? She does this one little thing to make sure you stay in the favored position that you are and that she continues to receive protection for as long as the business is around. If you die, she’ll be taken care of. That’s the benefit. That’s why I encouraged Camella to do it.”
I stare at him for a long moment while he smokes and avoids looking me in the eye. I guess I knew Beefer had lost it all four years ago. He made a bargain with the devil for his money and his power and his so-called favored position. There's nothing more for me to say, so I turn and leave.
37
Bitsy
There’s a suitcase in the hallway when I get home from work. I kick off my shoes, bypass the case, and stride into the kitchen.
“God, I’m tired. I need a drink.”
“You’re nineteen,” Leka says from the living room.
“Thank you for letting me know. I hadn’t the first clue how old I was despite having a birthday two months ago.” A birthday he did not celebrate with me. I grab the beer out of the fridge and pop it open defiantly. Guilt sits like a rock in my stomach. I shouldn’t have gone to Marjory’s. I know this, but I was hungry—both to eat and see Leka. I’d worked two double shifts and hadn’t spent a single moment with him in two days. I thought, stupidly, what was the harm.