Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89145 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
He loved to throw that in my face.
Fucker.
“I hope Shan gags you tonight,” I replied.
“Fuck, so do I.” He scratched his eyebrow and threw an absent glance at the crowd. “I don’t need to remind you that we don’t discuss our personal lives on the job, right?”
“No.” Hint taken. I knew he was a private guy—and I only knew him well because we hadn’t gotten to know each other through the organization. Kellan’s associates knew he was married, and most knew he was gay. He would never hide that. But he didn’t flaunt shit either, and it had nothing to do with the fact that he came home to a husband and not a wife. He just didn’t discuss his personal life with people who weren’t invited to family dinners.
“So what brings you outta your bat cave?” he asked.
I blew out a breath and rested my arms on the table. The ink around my wrists was visible, and in a knee-jerk reaction, I almost tugged down the sleeves of my shirt. But I reminded myself I didn’t have to do that anymore.
I felt like a fucking idiot to think back on all the nights I’d pondered how I could win back West. I mean, in my day-to-day life, when I didn’t have the kids, I’d been moving in the opposite direction. I’d acted as if I’d long since lost him. I’d taken a job no upstanding citizen would approve of. I’d gotten tattoos and I smoked again, something that wouldn’t look good at one of West’s wine mixers.
I’d never fit in where he did.
I’d bargained with myself on lonely nights. Maybe I could break it to West slowly. Reveal the ink first, then admit I hadn’t quit smoking, then mention I made extra money “doing some shit” for a mate.
It was so fucking juvenile.
First of all, West wouldn’t care if I had ink. He’d liked me when I’d cursed too much—when I’d been crude and less…polished. It was mostly his family. But even so, not even West would approve of what I did for a living.
And now, I didn’t have to give a fuck.
“I want in,” I said.
Kellan didn’t make a single face. He tilted his head a little and showed he was listening, and that was all. Not the slightest twitch of his eyebrows.
“Not like everyone else, maybe, just… I think I can be of more use,” I went on. “You don’t gotta hide me like before.”
Because that had been our deal since I’d started working for him when we’d moved back from LA. I handled Kellan’s work phone. I scheduled his sit-downs and responded to texts and calls. I’d learned their codes and knew every name that belonged to someone important enough. Hundreds of associates and affiliates. Some freelancers too.
My only stipulation so far had been that I could work from home, without ever having to meet any of these mobsters on a regular basis. And also, a legit employment that looked good on paper. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to explain how I could afford my house, my car, any of it.
This had worked for us for a few years now. Red Mikey had been the errand boy at first, stopping by to pick up messages and whatnot from time to time. And then he’d been promoted. He ran his own crew now. So Max had taken over. He was younger and eager to work his way up. But mostly, I just met up with Kellan.
“Do you have ambitions?” Kellan asked.
I felt my forehead wrinkle, and before I could ask what he meant, one of Kellan’s guys returned with our beer.
“Cheers.” I nodded with a dip of my chin.
Kellan held out a pack of smokes, and I furrowed my brow.
He smoked in here?
He grinned faintly. “Don’t worry about it. Someone complains, we pay the fine. End’a story.”
I chuckled and accepted a smoke. “How many fines have you paid?”
He scratched his nose. “Been a month or two now. But every now and then, some motherfucker comes in and coughs loudly and tells the staff. Asthmatic fuckin’ tourists—they don’t know Mick’s AC unit is better than the ones in the casinos in Vegas.”
I barked out a laugh and shook my head.
Oh man, I needed that laugh.
Screw it. I wasn’t gonna try to be the good guy anymore. I lit up my smoke and went with it.
Sorry, Ma. Identity crisis inbound.
“What did you mean by ambitions?” I asked.
He shrugged. “You got any goals? You wanna climb ranks or what? You wanna run a crew one day, become an adviser, network with people?”
Oh.
Fuck no.
“I like my sidelines position,” I told him. “I like my tasks too. I’m just sayin’, you don’t gotta come by my house or meet up with me anymore. I can come to you and…I don’t know. Show my face more. Be here—or wherever you’d want me.”