Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
To call the police.
To do anything.
But no more than five minutes later, I heard the bells again.
Then a familiar voice, sounding different with a hint of panic to it.
“Kick!” Rico called. “Kick!” he called again, voice getting closer.
Then, there he was.
And I somehow knew it was all going to be okay.
CHAPTER FOUR
Rico
“What’s going on?” Saff asked as we walked down the street after she dropped into the meat shop to talk to me, interrupting an interesting moment back by the lockers with Kick.
“Nothing,” I said, shrugging, as I shoved my hands into my front pockets. It went from fifty to thirty degrees in what felt like a day or two.
“You’re usually all about getting your hands dirty,” Saff said, refusing to let it go.
“Never said I wasn’t.”
“Yeah, but everything about you says you’d rather be back at the meat shop,” she said. “And since I can’t imagine you care that much about London broil, I have to conclude this has to do with that pretty chick you were eye-fucking when I came in.
“I wasn’t eye-fucking anyone,” I lied.
“Oh, please,” Saff said, rolling her eyes at me as she led me down a side street.
“This isn’t one of your smut books, kid,” I said, trying to distract her. “Not everyone wants to fuck their employees.”
“I mean, no, I can’t see you bending Ricky over your desk,” she said, shooting me a smile. “But that girl has your type written all over her.”
“I don’t have a type.”
“Right. So it’s just because the city only has short, pretty girls with great racks to offer, no other options, huh?”
“Saff, I’m not into Kick. Let it drop.”
“Kick,” Saff repeated. “I like that. Fine. What would you rather talk about then? Your cousin?”
“What about my cousin?”
“Isn’t he getting out of prison soon?” she asked.
“He is,” I said, nodding. “In a little over a week.”
“And?”
“And what?”
“You really need to work on your conversational skills, buddy,” she said as she reached for a door handle. “But right now, all I need is that muscle of yours,” she said, waving me into a building where, I assumed, that fucker who still owed her money and was now trying to hide from her, was holed up.
I walked out of there half an hour later feeling a relaxation in my shoulders that I hadn’t felt in ages. It was amazing what some good old-fashioned ass-kicking did for the nerves.
And I didn’t even have to break my knuckles open to get there.
Saff had half of her money. The guy had the fear of God in him.
All was good.
So I made my way toward my apartment, doing some work on my spare room where my cousin would be spending some time after he got out.
Nearly ten years inside.
I figured the least I could do was make sure his room was nice after that long in a cramped cell he had to share with another man.
So far, I had the walls painted, dresser and nightstands set up, and a mattress ready to be delivered. But the bed it was going on needed to be put together still.
That was what I set to working on for the evening.
Until, sometime around eight or so, my phone started ringing.
Seeing Ricky’s name on the screen, I frowned as I swiped to answer, setting the call on speaker as I tightened up the screws holding on the footboard.
“Ricky, what’s—“
“Rico, get here,” he said, sounding a mix of frantic and slow and slurred.
“What’s going on?” I asked, dropping the screwdriver, grabbing my phone, and getting to my feet.
“Guys jumped me. Think they’re inside,” he said, groaning as he, I guessed, tried to get up. “With Kick,” he added.
“Fuck,” I hissed, grabbing my gun before rushing out of my building.
I only lived a few blocks from the meat shop, so I made it there by foot, figuring I could run faster than a cab could drive.
My heartbeat was hammering in my chest. Not from the exertion. But from something I hadn’t felt in ages. Fear.
When you spent as many years as I had working in the criminal world, working your way up, and becoming the right-hand-man to a mafia don, you didn’t exactly get anxious in many situations.
But the idea of guys jumping Ricky and then possibly cornering Kick inside the shop had my stomach twisting in knots.
I saw the store in the distance, the lights still on, but no one hanging around.
I pulled out my gun as I neared the door, pulling it open, and wincing at the jingle of the bells that announced my arrival.
The cash drawer was open.
And, fuck, there was blood on the counter.
Theirs, I hoped, as I called out.
“Kick!”
I was met by nothing but silence as I rushed through the employee area, around the center room, then toward the office.
“Kick!” I called, louder, a little more frantic.