Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“I can’t make her quit.”
“You can and you will.”
He looks up at me, alarmed. “It’s all she knows.”
“It’s all she knew. Now she knows you, and you are my son. I can’t have clientele drooling over my son’s girlfriend.” I stand. “Pearl’s quit the bar, so Ella can fill for her.”
“What? You’d do that for her?”
I study him for a moment, thinking. Then lower to the desk again. “You’re serious about her?” I ask. “Because in this world, Nolan, you only take a woman if you’re serious about her. And when I say serious, I mean a lifetime. Forever. You would die for her. Kill for her. You pull a woman into our world, you vow to protect her from it.”
He nods, his face straight and serious, and I return it, rising from the desk again. “Don’t go far. We have somewhere to go.” I walk over to the door that leads up to the hidden office.
“Where?”
“It’s a surprise. Now go get Ella off that stage.” I push in the code and make my way up the stairs, the small space filled with clouds of my smoke. I relish it, pushing the door open. Danny’s on the couch, a Scotch in his hand, James is at the window with a vodka, looking down on the club, and Ringo and Goldie are playing chess. Fucking chess. They both look up, hunched over the board.
Danny nods mildly, impressed by the state of me. I go to him. “Stand up.”
He frowns, flicking questioning eyes to James, before slowly rising to his feet. I remove the glass of Scotch from his hand, holding it out, and James is quick to take it. “What the fuck are you doing?” Danny asks. “I was enjoying that.”
I swing at him, cracking him on the jaw, trying to aim for an undamaged part of his face, but that’s easier said than done given what his face has been through recently. The noise is piercing. He flies back, landing on the couch, his arms sprawled out, his face a picture of shock. “You ever lay a finger on my son again,” I say calmly. “I’ll fucking kill you.”
He stares at me, slowly taking his hand to his mouth and wiping, licking his lip, tasting the blood. I’ve upset the old wound. He laughs under his breath in disbelief, then looks at me, and the slow formation of a smile spreads across his evil face. I put my hand out, he takes it, let’s me pull him to his feet, and then drags me in for a manly hug.
“I’ll take that on the chin,” he says. “Literally.”
James nods, showing rare happiness with a mild smile as I break away from Danny and sit. James’s phone rings. “Otto.” He answers and starts to roam the office. “Got it.” He cuts the call. “The X5’s been picked up.”
I sit up straight. “Please don’t say by the police.”
He shakes his head. “The Russians. Otto’s tracking it.”
“Fuck, yes,” Danny yells, taking his Scotch off the desk and necking it. Then his phone rings. “Higham,” he says cheerfully, switching to loudspeaker. “Tell me you’re back.”
“I’m back.”
“Excellent. I’m in a really good mood. Don’t spoil it.”
“I’ll try. I’m at the boatyard. Just watched Otto manhandle some poor confused bastard into a green container.”
“Who?” Danny asks, then turns his attention onto the room. “Anyone know who Otto’s put in the green container?”
I raise my hand. “We’d better get to the boatyard.”
We pull up and find Higham sitting on the hood of his car. He looks tired. Really fucking tired. “You’re not looking like you’ve had much of a vacation,” I say as I pass him.
“Who’s in the container, Brad?”
“Yeah, who’s in the container, Brad?” Danny asks.
“No one. You’re seeing things, Higham.” I point to the café. “I’ll be there in a minute.” I take Nolan’s spare arm and help him toward the green container, looking back, seeing Danny’s questioning face following us. But he doesn’t demand an answer.
“What’s going on?” Nolan asks, hobbling along next to me, using my arm for support.
“I have a gift for you.”
“What?”
I open the container door and usher him inside, flicking on the lightbulb before closing the door behind me. I see the piece of shit on a chair, wrists and ankles bound with tape, his mouth gagged. He looks between us. Confused. I walk over and pull his gag down.
“Who the fuck are you?” he gasps.
“Don’t worry about who I am.” I pull my gun and point it at Nolan. “The cripple over there is who you should be concerned about.”
Nolan looks at me, and I see the penny drop. “Oh,” he breathes.
I nod, moving back, letting him take the stage while I screw the silencer onto my gun. “Have fun,” I quip.
The poor fucker in the chair bats his eyes back and forth between us. “What’s going on? Who are you?”