Total pages in book: 211
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 201554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1008(@200wpm)___ 806(@250wpm)___ 672(@300wpm)
“I’m so confused right now.”
“He has a plan. Trust him, like he asked you to. I’ll text you when he’s on his way back to you. Gotta run.” He disconnects.
And now all I can do is wait and pray for the best. And lose my mind, one second at a time.
Chapter seventy-five
Eric
Savage sips from the coffee I’ve just handed him. “Your father likes a hazelnut latte,” he observes. “I would have taken him for more of a black coffee, no cream or sugar kind of guy.”
“My father’s the kind of man that sweetens his drink and pisses in yours.”
“Ah. Gotcha.” He downs another swig. “I’m sweetened up and caffeinated. Ready to fight. What’s the plan? Kill him? Punish him? Tickle his feet until he pees himself? Or just piss in his coffee? I can do that right now, if you like?”
“I’d get the honors on all of the above,” I say, offering nothing more. My plans are my plans. I don’t need anyone else inside them, crawling around and fucking them up. I start walking toward my father’s hotel. Savage falls into step with me. “Decision yet to be made, aye?” he asks. “I get it. He’s your father, but he sent a hitman to kill you.”
He knows as well as I do that that man wasn’t sent to kill me, but rather Harper. He’s looking for answers that I’m not going to give him. “My father has a funny way of showing love.”
“Love by way of a hitman. Your family is more fucked up than mine.”
He hits about ten nerves with his “love by way of a hitman” comment that shoots me right back into the past. Into the day my mother killed herself, and as far as I’m concerned, my father was her hitman. What an appropriate time for me to walk into my father’s hotel and head toward the elevator to pay him a “loving” visit.
My cellphone buzzes with a text message and I grab my phone and glance down at a message from Harper. I talked to Gigi. Please call me.
I stop walking and eye Savage. “Give me a minute.” I step to a vacant seating area to our right and dial Harper.
“What about Gigi?” I say when she answers.
“She called and I told Blake about it but after pacing about, I think you need to know before you talk to your father.”
“Tell me.”
“She had a panic attack when I told her I was attacked. Eric, she wasn’t acting and she didn’t know your father was here. She hung up with me to call him and she was pissed. I’m not misreading this.”
“She set us up.”
“I’m going to use your own words on you right now. What if she didn’t? I know you hate her, but being a bitch and arranging a murder are two wildly different things. What if she was set-up, too?”
“You’re suggesting my father used her to get me to Denver, and she played an unwitting role in all of this.” It’s not a question. I’m simply letting her thoughts calculate in my mind.
“Isn’t he the only person that could use her that way? Which means he has to be the mastermind behind the attempt on my life.”
It’s logical with one flaw, the one that has my father desperate enough to bury the problem I believe Isaac created. That’s why he was at the warehouse before he got on a plane and came here, but nowhere in that equation, or any equation I’ve created, does my father use Gigi to get me to Denver. Gigi is playing Harper and that’s not something she will want to hear.
“This changes nothing,” I say. “My plan is still my plan.”
“And that plan is what? Because I feel like you called me and told me you loved because—”
“Because I do, Harper. No other reason.”
“Gigi set me on edge. I have a bad feeling in my gut right now that I didn’t a few minutes ago.”
“I’ll be back soon,” I say and disconnect. The call from Gigi changes nothing. In fact, it solidifies my plan.
I rejoin Savage and motion to the elevator. Once we’re inside, I eye him, aware that I don’t have the room number or a key to get upstairs, but he does. Or he better. I pay his team too damn much to have them be anything but prepared.
“Eleven,” Savage says, handing me a keycard. I accept it, put it to use, and pocket it, facing forward.
Savage doesn’t ask any further questions. I don’t offer any answers or commentary. We arrive at our destination and I cut him a look. “Stay by the elevator.”
“You sure about that?”
“Yes.” I motion to his cup. “I need that coffee.”
He takes another drink and hands it to me. The doors open and I exit the car and start walking. The hallway is long and my mind counts out the steps without my permission. Ten. Twenty. Fifty-two and I’m at the door. My hands are full. It’s a good reason to pause. I went years without seeing my father. I could do without seeing him now.