Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94834 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Moving toward the edge of the room, I try to listen in on as many conversations as I can, but for the most part, it’s just old men boasting about what kind of pull they have or the sneaky, under-the-table deals they were able to push through. Nothing jumps out at me, though one thing is clear. These upstanding men of the community, the very men who are supposed to look out for the health and wellbeing of the people around them, are nothing but frauds. It’s all a front, a room full of powerful people who are able to make things happen for those around them.
Trying not to let the disgust show on my face, I finally reach the boys, doing what I can to keep my distance. I turn my back as I shuffle toward the bar and scoop a glass of champagne off the waitress’ tray before she takes off with it.
Lifting the glass to my lips, I sip on what can only be described as pure liquid gold as I discreetly turn my head, listening to the boys’ conversation behind me.
“This is our fucking chance,” Zade seethes, his voice shifting as though he’s scanning the room. “Keep your eyes open. Every conversation that goes down tonight, I want to know about. We got nothing at the compound, and I’m not about to let these fuckers get away with it again.”
My brows furrow. Who’s getting away with what?
There’s a short silence before I hear Sawyer’s familiar tone, the sound of it sending a chill down my spine, remembering exactly what he said to me in that concrete prison. “One of us should have stayed behind. She’s left unprotected.”
“No,” Zade responds. “It’s too fucking easy. Whoever is behind this is here keeping an eye on us. They want to know what we know. They won’t be making another move until they’re confident we don’t have a name. Besides, she’s out tonight.”
What the fuck is going on here? Who the hell is this she they keep referring to? Is it me?
“That won’t stop the bastard sending out another hit,” Dalton says, his tone deep and full of concern.
“I don’t think so,” Cross says. “He knows he needs to up his game. That hitman was a fucking joke. If he wants to get to her, he’s gotta get through us first, and anyone around here knows that’s a fucking suicide mission. Only someone with the right connections could pull this off.”
There’s another short silence before Zade finally speaks again. “Put out feelers tonight. Talk to the wives and daughters. They’ll tell you just about anything you want to know if they think they’re about to get fucked by one of you bastards. I’ll hit up—”
A loud gasp tears from my throat as something cool slithers over my hand on the bar, and I realize it’s Cross’s snake. I’m about ready to make a run for it, but a hand closes around the back of my neck, whipping me around with such force that I can’t even scream.
The guys crowd me, my back pushed up against the bar. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing here?” Zade demands, his tone loud enough to grab the attention of the guests around us, their curious stares flashing our way.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” I spit, shoving his hand off me, though something tells me he only obliges because we’re in a very public space. “You invite a girl to a fucking ball and then forget about it?”
“I didn’t invite you to shit,” he says.
Still holding my invitation, I slam it up against his wide chest and he tears the paper out of my hand. “Well, it had to have been one of you,” I say. “I’m not fucking stupid. The glossy E on the envelope was the same one on that stupid calling card you left in my room.”
Each of them look clueless and my brows furrow, glancing toward Dalton. “You didn’t send me this?”
He shakes his head as unease flashes in all of their eyes. They glance between themselves as though they just figured something out and are having some kind of silent conversation between themselves. Zade though? He just looks pissed. “They lured her out,” he tells the boys. “And we fucking missed it.”
“They’re trying to make a fucking scene in front of the whole company,” Sawyer says. “Trying to make you look weak.”
A raw panic starts to pulse through my veins, and despite how much I hate these assholes, I find myself wanting to stick to them like glue. “What the hell is going on?” I demand, “Who sent me that invitation?”
All four of them ignore my question, and as if on cue, they each turn to scan the room, looking high and low until Cross nods toward the farthest corner of the room. “Sniper. Northeast corner. It’s a fucking hit.”