Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Roman wound his head like he was drawing circles with his nose, popping his gum while he hummed to himself. More than once I’ve been asked why I employed a man like Roman. Didn’t he belong with the misfit toys that made up the Sons of Saint?
The comments of the shortsighted did not penetrate. Despite his many quirks, Roman Pappas was the best retriever this city had ever seen. I gave him the fuzzy description from a four-year-old and Roman found the man who gave Elizabeth a basket of poisoned fruit and told her to say it came from her teacher. The man was begging at my feet four days later.
“You’ve never let me down, Roman.” I turned away from the screens. “Tell me that’s not about to change.”
Roman paused mid-circle, speaking with his head cocked at an odd angle. “I tracked Vito as far as the Westside clinic, boss. They patched up his leg, then moved him to a safe house for the night. It’s cleared out now. The whole apartment stripped and bleached.”
“And?” I prompted. Roman knew better than to walk in here with useless information like that.
“And from there they took him to Harlow thinking his girlfriend would play nursemaid. She slammed the door in his face. The tiny-dick shithead’s been sleeping with my sister,” he cried, adopting a high-pitched tone. “I hope he’s dead. If he’s not, find and kill him for me.” Roman jerked his head like he was shaking her voice out of his ear.
Henry took a step to the left. He was naturally wary of someone with the ability to remember everything he heard and saw. He claimed Roman was the equivalent of a wire and the only safe way to let him leave the crew was a bullet through his uniquely wired brain. Like I said, my organization wasn’t made of bros.
“After that, the Brotherhood guys took him to the sister,” Roman continued.
I reached for my desk drawer and the gun inside. “Is he there now?”
A shake of Roman’s head clenched my jaw. “He was there as of yesterday morning. Minute he could hobble, he put himself in a cab... headed for Rockchapel.”
I punched the desk and screamed, “Fuck!” but only in my head.
Outwardly, I steepled my fingers and channeled my hatred for the man working with Laurel and Mackenzie’s kidnappers into its apex—a technique my father taught me for controlling emotion. Anger and hatred were someone’s control over you. Strategy, reason, and revenge were my control over them.
And my relief when she came down those stairs—dirty, bleeding, and dripping tears on Laurel’s resting head—that was the end of both.
No one had control over me or I over them. What I had was a mandate that would drive my time on earth: to put every member of the Brotherhood through torture the likes of which would sicken generations to come.
“This Rockchapel business is becoming inconvenient,” I said simply. “It’s common knowledge among my enemies that all they need to do to escape my punishment is drive thirty miles east. They, and Vito, will quickly discover that is incorrect. Find him in Rockchapel, Roman. Now.”
He bowed deeply—a mocking act from anyone else, but Roman bowed to everyone he respected. “Yes, boss.”
“Does this mean new terms were negotiated with the Rat King?” Blake asked.
“No, but he will give us a pass for this. I have no doubt he has his own people looking. We share a common goal in this instance. He’d never turn down the assistance of Cinco’s best retriever.”
Roman beamed wide and unsettling. “You flatter me.”
I waved him off. “Go.”
Roman left, leaving Blake and Henry behind. “What have you found out about the Brotherhood and the man who called himself Snyder? Was he just a hired gun or someone important in the organization?”
Henry stepped forward. “From what he said to you, I suspect the latter. He said it was their right and their purpose to end the Merchants. Those are the words of a zealot, and considering he had every intention of killing you, he’d have gained nothing by putting on a show. There is a group of men dedicated to breaking the Merchants’ hold on the city, and this Snyder was the one tasked with carrying out your death. A fact that points to his reputation because whoever is in charge, thought one man was enough.”
“A reputation that fearsome is talked about. Why have I never heard of a Snyder?”
“An alias for certain, but there’s something else.” He nodded at Blake. “We know why neither you nor the family recognize him. An examination of the body revealed he’s had facial reconstruction, and a damn good job too. The scars are so faint, you had to be inches away to spot them.”
“Plastic surgery,” I breathed, mind racing. “Of course. Our first thought was we didn’t know him because he’s a hire from out of town. But someone who isn’t from the city and a zealot freeing the city from our reign doesn’t add up to the same person. He was a known player in this city, and he changed his face to hide the fact.