Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Uncle’s brows flickered. Then he laughed in an honest way and tossed back everything that was in his glass.
The ice clinked as he set the empty down with a smack. “You are the craziest motherfucker I ever met.”
“That is a correct statement.”
“But that doesn’t mean I believe a fucking word you—”
Nate was beyond done dealing with everything, so to cut the conversation short, he burrowed into the boss’s mind—and implanted what he’d learned when he’d popped the top off of Mickey’s consciousness and peered inside.
Uncle hissed and winced, rubbing at his temple. And then when that meaty paw lowered, he looked across the table with banked surprise… like he was trying to comprehend how the math equation, which he understood with total clarity, had gotten into his head.
“Mickey got what he deserved,” Nate repeated. “He made the choice, he ate the consequences. You know I got problems with no one. I just do what I do. In ten years, I haven’t fucked with anybody in your family. I let them make all the money, take all the women, and do all the things. I’ve been loyal to you, I’ve executed the assignments you’ve given me with no questions, and you and me, we’ve never had any trouble. Let’s not fucking start now. You won’t like what happens next, and I’ll be out of a good job.”
There was a stretch of silence. Then Uncle looked at the other two men and indicated the door with a sharp nod.
Jimmie Gimp huffed. “That ain’t smart—”
“Leave,” Uncle said. “Now.”
Nate focused on the blank wall straight ahead of him as the pair of organized crime felons played four-year-old-getting-kicked-out-of-the-birthday-party. When the door finally closed behind them, he looked at Uncle.
“Mickey was who he was. I’m sorry for your loss.”
Uncle lifted his glass to the ceiling and murmured something. Then he took a sip of melted ice cube. “Rest in peace.”
After that, it was just a question of waiting. Uncle liked to take his time as an exercise of control.
“Where’s the body,” he said eventually.
“There’s nothing left of it.”
That stare got good and icy as the man shook his head on a jerk. “His mother needs something to bury.”
Nate shrugged. “So give me someone to kill. I’ll give you a body.”
* * *
Bitty woke up on the couch in Safe Place’s living room, her eyes opening slowly on a flutter. As the ceiling came into focus and she recognized the nice landscape oil painting over the fireplace, she went to sit—
“Whoa, whoa,” Mary said. “Take it easy.”
As Bitty allowed herself to get urged back down, she tried to stitch together what had happened. She’d been at her desk in her office, and something had caught her attention—
All at once, she saw L.W. leaning into her, draping her with his heavy leather jacket… the one that smelled like him and was warm from his own body. Then he was staring into her eyes, and asking her—
“Where is he,” she blurted.
“Do you want to tell me what happened?” her mom asked.
Focusing on the female, Bitty had an urge to tear up and she tried to beat that back. Mary was already worried, that familiar face tight with concern, the short cap of brown hair tousled as if she’d been pulling her hands through it.
“I’m sorry,” Bitty mumbled. “I didn’t mean to worry you.”
Mary shook her head and reached out with a soothing touch. “No, no. You don’t have to apologize. I’m just concerned because you fainted in the cold.”
“I went outside…” L.W. must have called for help after she’d collapsed. “… to see a friend. And I just got dizzy.”
“Doc Jane is going to come check you out, okay?”
“Of course.” Because, hey, all the tests were going to come back fine. The fainting thing hadn’t been physical. More like a soul seizure. “I’m all right. I just forgot to eat at First Meal.”
Mary frowned. “You’ve been doing that a lot lately.”
“I have?” When her mom nodded, Bitty rubbed her eyes. “You know, I think you’re right.”
“And you’ve complained about headaches over the last month.”
“I did?”
“Mm-hmm.” Mary stroked Bitty’s arm again. “Honey, I think it might be coming.”
Bitty lifted her brows. “What might be coming? If you’re talking about spring, it’s a long way off—”
“Your needing.”
Cue the record squealing. Cars screeching to a halt. A crashing sound. “My nee—no, no.” She shoved herself up into a sitting position. “It’s waaay too early. I just had it a couple of years ago—”
“It’ll be ten years in February.”
A cold pall came over Bitty, like she was back out on the side lawn without a coat. “It… can’t be.”
“I’m afraid so. I’ve wanted to broach the subject, but I wasn’t sure how.”
Bitty closed her eyes and let her head fall back until her nape pinched like it was in a vise. Jesus… Christ. Not again.