Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
This got me thinking.
“He doesn’t want people to know she is missing,” I said.
A seek-and-obtain bounty was a private call out. Glancing at the information, I was surprised Ivan had it, but then, The Beast being a bounty hunter and an assassin, it shouldn’t surprise me.
Bounties were only given to the hunters. It was their job to keep it to themselves, and ninety-nine percent of the time they did. They kept that kind of information to themselves, mainly to get the job done. If enemies discovered their target was on the loose, all hell would ensue. There were some rules, at least within our world of war and chaos.
Now I had to be on the lookout for fucking bounty hunters, and they were not always easy to detect.
“Finn Byrne is making a move, or he plans to make a move very soon, in the hope of taking back territory.”
This wasn’t good news.
Finn Byrne hadn’t been a problem to us in a long time. In fact, he made a point of assuring us that attacks on Ive’s turf were not his.
Running a hand down my face, I looked toward Ivan.
“Can you reach out? Make a deal?” I asked. “Offer one of us for his daughter?”
Ivan smiled. “This is not a negotiation, Peter. You will do what I ask, and I’ll take care of the rest.”
“This is bullshit. You know I will be better suited taking care of my territory and helping you keep hold of Pavlov’s.” Just thinking about that traitorous fuck was enough to get my anger boiling.
I’d never liked Oleg Pavlov. He’d been one of the original sons from the Russian Bratva, but he attempted to fool Ivan into believing he was loyal to him and him alone. The truth was, he’d never been loyal to Ivan. He planned to bring him down, to tear down all that the Volkov Bratva had built.
Oleg Pavlov was dead, but his territory was still unstable, which is why Ivan had approached The Beast and The Butcher. Both would be more than capable of putting that territory back in line.
Slavik, Andrei, Ive, Victor, Ivan, and I had been dealing with the unruled territory. It was time to find another Brigadier. I just didn’t think either The Beast or The Butcher were likely candidates.
This got me thinking as I handed back the piece of paper to Ivan. “Byrne’s going after Pavlov’s territory, isn’t he?”
Ivan neither confirmed nor denied it.
“Time is ticking, Peter. Get the job done.”
I had never failed Ivan and I wasn’t going to do so now. Niamh wasn’t easily fooled, and she was also used to keeping people at arm’s length. She didn’t seem to be able to grasp flirting, or when I touched her inappropriately. I wanted to get her to make the first move, and simply respond, but that shit wasn’t going to happen.
I couldn’t allow this to go on much longer.
Ivan needed me. My territory needed me, and for whatever reason, Ivan wanted his plan to go this way. He’d never steered me wrong before, and I knew he wouldn’t start now.
****
Niamh
I was bored.
I’d gone to the library too late yesterday. I had no choice but to return the book I’d been reading, only I didn’t have enough time to pick another.
The woman behind the counter had looked so disappointed as I walked through the main doors. I figured she wanted to leave for the day, so I dropped off without a glance around.
Now, it was nearly nine o’clock, and sleep was not coming to me. I didn’t own a television and one didn’t come with the apartment. I’d spent most of my Sunday cleaning my apartment. I didn’t like living in mess.
My mother didn’t have a problem, and the days my father would come to visit, and I got locked in my bedroom, the state of the house afterward was disgusting. Mom didn’t care that alcohol and vomit were being rubbed into the carpet. Once, when I was cleaning up, I even had to dispose of used condoms.
Even though I loved tidiness and cleanliness, I hated cleaning. It was a necessary evil, and one I was less than happy to do.
Why was I thinking about my mother and those gross parties? They were not fond memories. They were the worst. I hated when my father arrived.
Pushing hair off my face, I rolled onto my back and stared up at the ceiling, watching the fan whirl around. Normally, it helped put me to sleep, but not today.
I took deep breaths and decided to start counting imaginary sheep about to jump over the fence, when there was a bang on my door.
Gasping, I sit up, gripping hold of the blanket I had placed over myself. It was kind of warm, summer was approaching, and I tried not to panic. Who could be knocking on my door at this hour? I didn’t notice anything strange yesterday. Sundays are difficult as I never knew who had arrived in town. The diner was often closed, so I always hoped any potential problem didn’t stick around and hated little towns.