Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 104729 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 524(@200wpm)___ 419(@250wpm)___ 349(@300wpm)
I push down all my past and think about the future. The future, meaning tonight.
“Phoenix, tell me what you have planned.” He practically begs me.
His nerves make mine flare. “He’s invited me to the club tonight. I plan to drink and find out more.”
“You truly think he will tell you where my guns are?” I can hear the doubt in my father’s voice, and it makes me want to work that much harder to succeed.
“Well, no, obviously not. But maybe I can find a way to get to his phone—”
“This is too dangerous. I’ll send—”
I know what he’s about to say—he’ll send his men in—but that would be war. When I saw Alaric yesterday, he had a minimum of twenty men with him, and that was only the ones I could see. The man has an entourage larger than any celebrity.
“You can’t send anyone in. I saw it last night. There is no getting close enough to him. Unless you want a war.”
“I don’t want that. There have already been too many casualties. I want to shut him down, but I don’t want to kill innocent people …” His voice is soft and sad. He doesn’t sound like the businessman I have grown to know over the years. Yes, he has always loved and cared for me, but this is different. I just don’t know why. I shake off these thoughts and let out a breath.
“I promise I’ll be safe. I’m just going to find out where he’s staying. Try to figure out a way to get his phone. It shouldn’t be that hard.”
Lies. It will be impossible, but I’ll figure something out. I’m resourceful.
Like my namesake, they burned me to the ground, but I rose. That’s why I go by the name Phoenix.
From the ash, I was reborn, and I have no intention of failing in this.
I owe Michael Lawrence, my father in every way that matters, for my life, and if ending this war is how I can repay him, then that’s exactly what I will do.
4
Alaric
It doesn’t take long for Cristian to arrive. I employ as many men as I do because they all have a unique skill set that I need. When he opens the door to my office, I recline in my chair and continue to drink a glass of scotch.
We’re docked, so the boat only sways slightly but enough for the amber liquid to resemble a wave.
“What do you have for me?” I ask between sips.
“Actually, a lot,” he answers, and that’s when I notice his hands aren’t empty. That fact alone has me placing the glass down and leaning forward. I place my elbows on the desk in front of me, tilting my head to signal for him to sit.
The sound of the chair pulling back echoes through the space as he takes a seat. “Remember that adoptive son you’ve been searching for?”
I know exactly who he’s talking about. Word around town is my enemy has one weakness. A man with no family has a secret son. I’ve been searching for him ever since my brother died.
An eye for an eye—or in this case, a brother for a son.
“Phoenix, right?”
But that’s all I had. No last name. Nothing. Word has gotten back that Phoenix means something to Michael, but no one knows more than that. Since Michael ignited the flames of war four years ago, no one has seen him. He has been a complete recluse, which makes seeking vengeance nearly impossible.
“Well, it seems we had a few of the details wrong.”
“Speak.” My voice comes out rough and abrasive, but I have waited years to find ammunition to use on him.
Sure, I have bled him dry by stealing his merchandise as often as I could, but affecting his profit margins doesn’t pack a punch. It stings, but it doesn’t burn.
I want to burn this motherfucker to the ground.
Take and torture whatever he holds dear.
We only just got word six months ago that there might be a son.
A lot of chatter, but no location. I’m not sure that this has anything to do with the task at hand, but I’m intrigued.
“He doesn’t have a son.”
That can’t be right. We had good intel on this “Phoenix.” My jaw tightens, and I can feel myself becoming impatient. Why is he telling me this, especially if it will only lead to a dead-end?
“Then how does this help me?”
His lips spread, and an enormous smile appears on his face.
“What aren’t you telling me?”
“It appears he has a daughter. An adoptive daughter named Phoenix Michaels. She doesn’t even have his last name.”
He throws the file down, and staring back at me are the big blue eyes of the goddess from last night. Her image is attached to the front of the file with a paper clip. I open it and see the school transcripts. It appears she went to a private school in Switzerland.