Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“It’s sorted,” Brad practically sings.
“What the fuck is going on?” I ask.
“Nothing,” he protests, a little high-pitched. “Nothing is going on.”
“Talk,” I order. “Give me another problem, Brad, because it’s taking everything in me not to leave this house with a machine gun in each hand and shoot my way through Miami until I find him.”
“We’re exchanging earlier with Luis.”
I frown, and Otto, Ringo and Goldie all look at Brad like he’s lost his mind. “Why?”
“The cash arrived at Hiatus.”
“He paid early?”
Brad nods.
The fuckers. No one settles before they get all the goods. They’ve backed us into a fucking corner.
“James spoke to Chaka,” Brad continues. “He’s meeting the original delivery date of a week this Friday.”
“And then we exchange with the Mexicans the next day?” I ask. “Need I remind anyone that the next day is a Saturday? We generally avoid Saturdays because they fall on a fucking weekend. And correct me if I’m wrong, but I’m pretty certain Chaka said there’s a Coast Guard training day that Friday.”
Brad shrugs. “James is dealing with it.”
I doubt James is capable of dealing with anything right now. I’m mad, yes, but this rage would be so much worse if the casualty of this fucked-up mess was Rose. “So we need James,” I say, just as the door opens and the man himself appears.
“You have him.” He heads to a chair opposite my desk and drops into it. Everyone’s eyes follow him there, everyone silent. So silent, I can hear the burning of the blood in his veins. “Talk,” he orders.
I flick my eyes to Otto and Goldie, who look grave. So fucking grave. “The guns,” I say with an edge of caution.
“Chaka’s delivering as originally planned so we can exchange earlier with the Mexicans.”
“Okay,” I say slowly. “Wanna give me a bit more than that?”
“Turf war across the border. Luis is running out of time and arms.”
“Okay. So we risk our business to save his?”
His eyes turn slowly onto me. “You want the Mexicans on the list of men we need to kill, because I think there’s enough on our list at the moment.”
I’ve got to give him that. And now I have been suitably distracted from my anger for a few moments to deal with regular business, I suppose we need to get back to the reason why I’m standing here fighting to control my rage and James is sitting there looking like the devil has been resurrected and is using his body as a carrier.
I’ve said many times, but I don’t think I’ve ever meant it as sincerely.
God help Miami.
“How is she?” I ask, making him lift his eyes but not his head, as his thumbs circle fast. He’s keeping his hands busy.
“Silent. Vacant. Broken once again.”
Which means The Enigma is taking over. “And you?”
“How are you?” he fires back.
“On the edge.”
“I’m with you.” He gets up and goes to the cabinet, pouring a vodka. “There wasn’t much left of Jaz Hayley,” he says, necking his drink. “More than my family, mind you, but still.” His back rolls, a sign of him trying to keep his cool. “He hasn’t stolen a body, he’s stolen a slice of Beau’s peace. I need to get her peace back.” He pours another vodka and faces me. “So where do we start?”
He wants to get this show on the road, as do I, but first I think we need a little of something else. “Ride on the water?” I ask as he necks his second and sets his glass down, ready to pour another. Fuck knows, we both need to chill the fuck out before we wreak havoc. Alcohol isn’t the answer. Getting shitfaced isn’t the answer. Especially now we’re back in Miami. Vulnerable. Look at me being wise. And it occurs to me in this moment, I have never in the time I’ve known James Kelly, and granted it hasn’t been all that long, seen him drunk. Has he ever been drunk? Probably not. He’s too controlled. Even when he’s raging, he seems in control.
He sets the bottle down, not pouring another, and that’s his answer. And I turn to the others and see all hands in the air. We all need a moment.
“Meet you at the boatyard in a few hours,” I say, leaving the office, on my way to try and sort something that will undoubtedly make the need for the sea, the air, the thrill, more acute.
“Danny,” Otto calls after me, and I stop just shy of the stairs, looking back. “Your mum.”
“What about her?” I ask flatly.
“She didn’t come with you.” He states it as a fact rather than asking it as a question.
“No, she didn’t come with me.” And if you question me, I’ll fly off the fucking handle. Mum needed to stay behind with Tank and look after Daniel. It’s one less thing for me to worry about.