Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Yet here we stand. Both pissed off survivors.
“How would you like to be second in command?” I ask softly.
His chin lifts. “I’m not from a known family.”
“You’re my family.” He’s earned as much trust as I can give, which isn’t all that much.
“I accept.” He glances down at my old-man pants. “When would you like to meet your very few followers?”
I consider my options. “Tomorrow here after closing.”
He nods. “I’ll make the arrangements. For now, I live upstairs and have clothes you can borrow. You’re welcome to stay. There’s a sofa that kind of folds out into a bed.”
“Thank you,” I say, meaning it. “But I plan to stay with my lawyer.” I mean that, too.
One of his dark eyebrows rises. “Rosalie?”
Her name on his lips nearly has me lunging for him, and I tamp down on emotion. “You know her?”
He shrugs, his gaze alert against danger again. Smart man. “No. She dropped by yesterday with the news that you’d be released this week. She wanted to make sure you had a place to stay.”
I scan the dismal bar with its scattered tables, small dartboard area, and lone torn pool table. A small, raised dais sits in the far corner with a guitar leaning against the wall. “She came here?”
He grins. Slowly. “Yeah. Even sat on a bar stool without wiping it off first. Said she wasn’t sure she’d be able to keep you on the outside but wanted you safe while she tried.”
A thoughtful and sweet heart to go with that spectacular body. Sometimes the gods are kind. Yet, they’ve tossed her into my path, so perhaps not. “I see. I plan to go buy clothes with my measly two hundred dollars in a few moments, but I appreciate the offer. How are the finances here?”
“Not great. We’re afloat but barely. The books are in order in the office, and they’re all yours.”
“I trust you.” Words I wouldn’t give to anybody else in this world—even those I’ll soon rule. My contacts inside had kept me informed about the Russian organization, and not much has changed. Yet. “I’ve heard my half brother is dead.” I take the second shot and my limbs relax.
Garik pours two more. “Yeah. I’ve asked around and nobody knows who did it.”
Perhaps Thorn Beathach had done me a favor by ending Cal. The little shit had been a weak link in the future organization—and he liked to beat women. There’s no love lost between my father’s second family and me. My father had not chosen well with a second wife. “Has Hendrix been by?” I wonder about my other half brother.
“No. He doesn’t visit this part of town,” Garik says wryly. “But a few of his guys have dropped by and caused damage before. Just reminding me that he’s in the world and knows I am as well.”
I’m certain Hendrix is running the organization right now. Using the word Bratva has always seemed like overkill to me. When I take over, it’ll be referred to as Organizatsya, or Organization.
Garik finishes his third shot. “What are the chances you’ll be released for good?”
“I don’t know.” Yet I have no intention of ever going back. Which means time is limited to gain enough power to prevent that from happening. “Did you keep my go bag?”
“Yep.” Garik crouches again and rustles in the back of a cupboard, pulling out a worn black leather bag and plunking it on the bar. The sound of a couple of amethyst gems clunking is obvious. They’re small and not charged, yet a trill of power comes from them. “Here you go.”
Besides the Beretta 92FS I managed to hide before being arrested, I placed passports and cash in the bag. Just enough to buy new clothing and not much else. “You never opened it?”
“Of course not.”
I might have to knight the guy. “Thanks.”
The outside door opens and we both turn. Instead of a beer delivery man, a tall blonde in a form-fitting red silk dress slinks through, her shiny black high heels clipping seductively on the dirty floor.
Blythe Fairfax. A woman I might’ve loved. She could be a murderer.
“Uh.” Garik replaces the bottle beneath the bar. “I’m going for a walk.” He crosses around and moves toward the door, nodding at her and keeping a wide berth as he exits.
I wait for a feeling to hit me. Any sensation. Nothing.
She glides across the worn linoleum and reaches me, her expensive perfume clogging my senses. “You’re free.”
I turn to face her more fully. While the years apart had been rough on Garik, she looks better than ever. Her blue eyes sparkle in her still unlined face, probably helped along with Botox and whatever other treatments have been invented lately. The dress clasps in a halter behind her neck, leaving her toned shoulders and arms bare.
She blinks at my lack of answer and looks up at my face. “Did you kill him?”