Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76821 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Rolan’s grandfather had preferred rather garish reds and golds and greens. Which, whether he realized it or not, kind of gave the mansion the look of Christmas year-round.
Though, walking into Rolan’s mansion kind of made me miss the warmth that all that red, gold, and green provided.
Because Rolan had wiped the house of any color save for black and gray.
The walls were all grayish which gave it a little movement and texture, but reminded me a bit of a prison. There was no art. No knickknacks. The closest thing he had to decor were the drapes on the windows. Which were, you guessed it, black. Lush black velvet curtains that skimmed the floor. Yet provided no warmth to the space.
The furniture was to a minimum as well. And he seemed to prefer natural materials, but not wood.
The fucking dining room table was cement for God’s sake. And the chairs lining it were, yes again, black.
He led me through the dining room and into the kitchen. The same gray wash was on the walls. And the countertops were gray quartz. The appliances were stainless steel.
But the cabinets were white.
It was markedly cold inside the house, but I was pretty sure it was the coldness of the decor that made me just barely manage to hold back an actual shiver.
“So, your woman is missing,” Rolan said, leaning back against the gray countertop in his gray suit, a man just as cold as his surroundings.
“Yes. Snatched out of her car after being tracked.”
“The stakes of our lifestyles are high. You should know this. She should know this.”
He wasn’t exactly wrong, but I felt my hackles rising slightly at his tone. It almost suggested that I should just… move on. Without trying to find her. Like her kidnapping and possible torture and death was just acceptable.
“Where the fuck is she, Rolan?” I hissed, watching as his brow lifted ever so slightly at my tone.
“Your woman?”
“Maeve,” I said.
“Maeve,” he repeated, brows pinching. Because the name didn’t ring a bell. Of course, it didn’t. She’d given me a fake name.
“Natalya,” I corrected.
Then I watched as his mask fell ever so slightly. And the barely-concealed rage showed through for the briefest of seconds.
“Natalya,” he repeated, spitting her name out like a curse, like the taste of it was bitter on his tongue.
“Yeah. Where is she?”
“Why would I know that?”
“Because she’s part of this organization.”
“Was,” he corrected. “She was a part of this organization. Fired. That is how you got your position, was it not? Because she was fired.”
Natalya—who told me her name was Maeve when she met me, but ended up just being the name of her best childhood friend who’d died—had been the Sokolov wheelman before me.
Not as seasoned or as skilled. But confident, if not even reckless at times. I hadn’t known her before I’d met her, personally or even by reputation. Which had intrigued me because I thought I’d known every good driver in the area.
But it made sense that organizations kept their people close, didn’t let them go and get a reputation on the streets. Where others could point fingers at them if they were ever dragged in on charges, and wanted to provide some evidence on someone else for a shorter sentence.
I never did learn what Natalya had done to warrant being sacked, but knowing how secretive this crew was, it had to be pretty bad.
Clearly, though, there was bad blood.
Because this was the first time Rolan had shown any emotion.
Disgust.
Anger.
“You’re not stupid, Rolan. You wouldn’t just fire someone who was privy to those kinds of secrets, and not keep an eye on them.”
It occurred to me just then that if that was the case, then he’d been keeping tabs on me as well.
I guess I’d always kind of suspected that they would, that I would never fully shake their shadow. But joining the club had offered me a certain amount of protection.
I mean, yeah, the Bratva was more established, longer running, had deep roots. But the club wasn’t just this club. There was the massive mother club in Navesink Bank. There was the growing club in Shady Valley. And there were whispers of the mother chapter’s president, Fallon, opening another chapter or two in his tenure as president.
Everyone knew that if you came for a sister chapter, and they needed some extra muscle, they would get it from their other sister chapters, or the mother one.
It was a fuckuva lot of heat to bring on your organization, no matter who you were.
So while I knew there might be hard feelings, I figured the path I chose insulated me from any real danger from the Bratva.
Then again, I guess Natalya wasn’t technically part of the organization anymore either.
“Natalya has been… difficult to keep track of,” Rolan admitted, and I knew it probably hurt even to admit that little bit.