Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 71476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
“It’s about time, Gorgeous,” I growl, relief filling me.
“Just got your fucking message today, Mijo.”
Marcum. The crazy motherfucker, I had almost forgot I put a call through to him. I shake my head, trying to clear it of the disappointment I feel. I was sure it was Rory calling me back.
“You’re older than me, Marcum, but not that fucking older. I’m not your damn son,” I grumble. He always calls me that, playing off the Spanish heritage I have in my blood.
“You’re just as cheerful as ever,” he quips and I look up at the ceiling, fighting the urge to hang up.
“You realize it’s like eleven o’clock?”
“It’s two a.m. here, you don’t hear me whining like a little bitch.”
“Married life has turned you into a smartass,” I sigh.
“Married life has turned me into a happy, satisfied man,” he argues.
“If you’re so satisfied what are you doing calling me instead of lying in bed doing your wife?”
“Just got done with that. Left her purring, got up when she started snoring. Though, for fuck’s sake don’t tell Toi she snores. You tell her that shit and I’ll gut you.”
“Whatever,” I laugh. “How are Toi and the kids?”
“Good man. Really fucking good. Toi’s pregnant again.”
“Jesus, you’re planning on populating your own damn country, old man.”
“We’re done after this one. Toi wanted another one and what my woman wants, I’m sure as fuck going to give her.”
“Hell, you sound like a damn Hallmark card.”
“If they had a line where you could cuss like a sailor and fuck from sun-up to sundown maybe. Tell me what’s going on with you,” he says, suddenly turning to business and when Marcum goes to business, you know it. His whole demeanor changes.
“Need to burn a marker man,” I tell him and this is a decision I’ve been wrestling with. It’s not an easy one, but it’s something I need to do.
“Max mentioned that whacked out, dick-shriveler has reared her head again.”
“She’s got to have someone behind her, someone with enough money to keep pulling this shit. I just don’t know who. I’ve racked my brain to go through the enemies I have that might do this crap, but I’m coming up empty,” I tell him, my frustration bleeding through every word.
“Don’t want to go wading into your shit, Mijo, but…”
“Nothing has stopped you before,” I tell him.
Marcum and I became tight years ago when I was asked to provide safe transport out of the country for his son Max and Max’s woman, who was running from the law. Max later changed his mind and decided to do his time, but I had it arranged and there was money spent by then. Marcum respected that, gave me a marker when I wouldn’t take his reimbursement. He’s been a friend I could depend on. I haven’t used that friendship, but right now it feels like I have my back against the wall.
“Why the fuck did you leave the protection of your club?” he asks and there goes that damn burning in my stomach again.
“It just seems there has to be someone in the club helping that bitch get so close.”
“Fuck, your men would die for you,” he says and my stomach double clutches and I have to keep from bending over with the pain inside.
“Some, yes. But, Marcum, man…” I sigh, trying to figure out my words before I continue. “A man in position of power attracts two types of people in their lives,” I answer and then I give him some more. “Men who respect it and men who want it. Sometimes it’s really fucking hard to figure out that last type.”
“Amen. I get that,” he says solemnly and he would. He’s been there.
Exactly there.
“Yeah,” I respond, letting the word hang between us.
“To lay it out then, I dissect the dick-shriveler’s life and find out every fucking thing and every fucking one she’s in contact with and follow the trail.”
“My men tried that. We hit dead end after dead end,” I tell him. “But, the bitch had money, big ass money in her bank. She’s coked out of her head on the best of days. There’s no way she has that kind of money with her habit. She’s being bankrolled brother, but near as I can tell there’s no paper trail at all.”
“Got it. Your connections are not my connections. I’ll dig so deep I’ll find the cockroach that’s laid claim and set up shop in her asshole.”
“Cockroach?”
“Has to be some reason that bitch is still alive. You can’t kill cockroaches,” he says. “Well you can, Mijo, I take that back. You just have to get inventive on how you do it.”
“Jesus, I didn’t realize it until this moment, but I’m starting to sound like you these days,” I tell him, remembering vividly the conversation I had with Rory about Vicki and calling her the same damn thing.