Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76881 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
The other end goes silent.
“You're sure?” It sounds like she knows there's no point asking, but I guess I would, too.
Unless he finds a way to attach his body parts back together and recompose, there's nothing anyone can do about it, other than get him in the ground ASAP.
“I'm sure. I'm sorry.”
“God. What about his wife? Is my aunt Heather there, too?”
“I don’t think so, but we’ll check the rest of the place to make sure.”
Her voice is tiny. “Are you… are you guys going to be back soon?”
“As soon as we can, I promise. We're gonna take care of you.” This time I hang up before she can object.
“Alright, boys. Let’s sweep the place, clean this shit up, and then get the fuck outta here. We can dump Walt in the bay on the way back.” Savage is already zipping the bag back up.
Fuck.
25
SAVAGE
“You might not know my name, but you're gonna get real familiar with it, real soon,” Hellfire thunders into the phone.
Stefano is on speaker mode in the middle of Hellfire’s desk so we can all be part of the call. This started as a simple job, but from the sounds of it we might be heading for a war with the Mob. I hope the fuck not, because this is bigger than just us. This can affect the whole fucking club, and change the balance of power in the area.
We're in the old sacristy where Hellfire set up his office. His desk is covered in documents, nearly burying his laptop. A couple of the file cabinets are open, where he tracks club business. On the wall is a topless calendar of biker chicks, and underneath it his private bar. He's got one of those fancy ergonomic chairs for working in, but right now he's pacing back and forth behind his desk, obviously frustrated with Stefano Fabbri. Meanwhile, Poe's in the chair next to me, and Crank's leaning against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest, looking real fucking annoyed.
“Must you be so dramatic? It’s hard to take you people seriously when you screech like monkeys and wave your genitals around to make a point.” Fabbri's voice is cold, unbothered, maybe even just a little bit amused. “My point is that I don't even understand what you're so angry about.”
“You decapitated the guy we were supposed to turn the girl over to,” I growl, finding it hard to keep my anger in check. He was an asshole, but he was the only family she had left. “What about his wife? You ice her too?”
“But why do any of you care? You found the girl and the money. We would like them, and we will pay you the agreed upon bounty, plus a small bonus if the money is all returned. Her uncle isn't part of the deal, and irrelevant. Same goes for his wife. When did you become such a bunch of boy scouts? It's a little disappointing, to be honest. I was expecting you to be more… ruthless.”
We're brutal sometimes. We have to be. Do we break the law? Fucking constantly. But do we take apart bodies and leave them to rot where some poor fucker has to find it? Fuck no. This fucker is a psychopath.
“We care because if we can’t trust you to not go off half cocked and do shit like this, it makes me wonder if it’s possible to have a working relationship with your fucking family.” Hellfire's rumble is low and dangerous. “We told you we needed a couple days to get the girl in place. You assured us that everything was in order, but from what my boys tell me, Walter Holland was probably already in pieces at the bottom of a pile of sheets at that point. Am I wrong?”
“In order does not mean frolicking in the fields, Hellfire. You might be sitting in a church, but don’t play choir boy for me. You would do the same if someone betrayed your club. I’ve done my research, and I’ve heard your reputation. Holland had a binding contract with my associate. If he had come to me as soon as his niece had taken the money, he might still be alive. Perhaps not in one piece, but alive. Instead, he chose to lie and attempt to hide the problem.” There's a rattling sound like he's drumming his fingernails on his desk. “What this is really about is that either you don't have what you’ve promised, or you're attempting to back out of the deal. Cazzo. I can do to your little club exactly what I did to Walter Holland. Don't forget that. I can only keep my patience for so long.”
“You can fucking try. Better men than you have, and we’re still here. You aren’t the only one that does research, Steve. I know the only reason you’re in my backyard is because you got fucking run out of town and now you’re holed up in Midtown, licking your wounds and becoming my problem.”