Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72858 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I expect him to tell me the same shit Jase has been saying, that Marcus is up to something. Marcus is going to strike. That we have three enemies now, not just one.
Without any proof other than the word of dead men. A single word. The enemies will fall in order: Talvery, Romano, and then Marcus. When we have more proof. I’m not in the habit of starting a war over a single word from the lips of a soon-to-be-dead addict.
“Nikolai is asking around for her,” Daniel tells me and that catches me by surprise.
“Is that right?” I ask as my thumb taps against my lip. Resentment stirs inside of me. He brings out a side of jealousy in me that I’ve never felt before. He had her first.
Daniel nods with the hint of amusement at his lips. “Ever since Romano confirmed it.”
“And what’s he asking?”
“How he can get her back.” He doesn’t hide the thrill in his eyes from delivering this news to me.
“You’re a prick for loving this as much as you do.”
“It certainly adds an interesting dynamic, doesn’t it?” he asks and a mix of curiosity, hate, and jealousy mingle in my blood.
“He has nothing to bargain with and even if he did, there’s nothing I’d want in her place.”
“He’s already been told that and that it would be pointless to even ask you, but he demanded you be told.”
“Did he?”
I can’t blame Daniel for being so amused. “He seems to really care for her.”
“Is this the first or second time I’ve told you I want him to die first?” I ask Daniel and he only snorts a laugh. Every night in the cell that Aria spoke his name, my hate for Nikolai grew. And she did it often. I’m fully aware of how close they were. Too fucking close for him to keep breathing when all of this is over.
“You really think she’ll forgive you?” he asks with a cocked brow. I don’t think he realized what his question would do to me.
She’ll have to forgive me. There’s no other way.
I don’t like leaving Aria or being away from the estate right now, especially knowing that every moment I’m away is a moment that threatens to make her question what she should do. That’s a dangerous thought to leave her with; all she should do is what I tell her, but I have to be present for this.
There are times when it’s required to be seen. This particular instance is one of those times. With slicked-back hair and a sharp suit, Oliver looks younger than I remember him. Maybe it’s the wide grin on his face that adds to his youthful appearance. Maybe it’s the shot of what looks like whiskey that he clinks against Frank’s beer and then throws back as he takes his seat. Neither of them sees me, but the security and Jared notice the moment I enter. They tense as I let the back doors close easily behind me, listening to Frank’s hard slap on Oliver’s back in congratulations.
Frank’s all right I guess. He’s a little older than me, only by a few years, but he’s perpetually twenty-one. A punk kid with no goals in life other than making a buck on the streets and letting everyone know he’s proud of it. I don’t give a fuck what his motivation is, so long as he listens. I catch his light blue gaze and he slides back in his chair with a broad smile. “The boss is here,” he utters but his jovial words are slurred.
“Your mom waiting up for you, Frank?” I ask him, hiding my grin as I walk toward the table they’re sitting at in the right corner of the room.
Glancing over my shoulder, I take notice of who’s counting the money down the hall. All the drugs come in and out of the Red Room, Jase’s nightclub. As does the money.
“Ma can wait up all she wants.” He blows off my comment, not taking the hint that he should make his way out.
“I think there’s some business,” Jared points out and gestures between myself and Oliver, his head tilted as he tries to convey to Frank that he should get the fuck out of here.
The shot glass sounds heavy as it hits the table and Frank pushes out his chair. “All right, all right, the big guys gotta talk.” He mutters without looking at me, “You don’t got to tell me twice.” As he’s putting on his jacket, I lay a hand down on his shoulder and wait for him to look at me. I stand close to him, catching him off guard and creating a thick tension that’s undeniable. Fear looms in the depths of his eyes as I tell him earnestly, not breaking eye contact, “Thanks for understanding.”