Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105065 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 525(@200wpm)___ 420(@250wpm)___ 350(@300wpm)
“The funeral is today,” I point out. “We won’t be expected. Already, they’ve made arrangements to change the location of a shipment on Saturday. They’re preparing for the obvious.”
Niall drums his fingers against the flask and then nods. “Let the Russians have it for their troubles. A token of our appreciation.”
My fist crushes the medal in my palm with the force of adrenaline pumping through my veins. Bloodlust. Revenge.
I’ve a taste for it tonight.
Niall glances at his watch and then stands up. “Well if ye’re going this evening, you best get on with it then.”
Together, we walk out the front doors. Before we part ways, he slaps me on the shoulder and squeezes.
“Ye’ve lost your grand-da,” he says. “But know that you’ll always be considered me son.”
***
“So this is the place, hey?” Rory stares up at the weathered house from our position on the footpath. “Figures the cunts would live here.”
Not a one of us feels remorse for what comes next. This Armenian gang is only growing in number with each passing day, intent on staking their claim. They’ve stepped on toes. Our toes, to be precise, and the Russians as well. But it isn’t just us. I hear the Italians have been taking issue with them too.
Stepping on toes is one thing. Shooting up the deli where my grand-da was meeting with the Russians? Entirely another. There’s only one price to be paid for such an act.
Ronan takes his rightful spot at my side, and the rest of the lads follow suit.
“How’d ye like to do this, then?” asks Ronan.
“Yeah, boss,” mimics Sean. “How’d you want to do this?”
We walk up onto the porch. I haven’t any instructions for them except one.
“Kill them all.”
Chapter Two
Mackenzie
Leaning forward for balance, I curl my knees in to rest on the back of my arms.
Crow pose.
It’s a simple posture. A two-step process, broken into the most basic of arm balances. And yet it took me forever to master. If I were the type to mentally dissect and examine the reasons behind this- which I’m not- it wouldn’t be too hard to figure out.
The crow symbolizes many things in different cultures. Magic, transcendence, destiny, intellectual awakening. A physical representation of the space between heaven and earth. The interpretations are vast and far reaching. But when the magic and lore have been stripped away, all that’s left is reality. For me, only one interpretation comes to mind. At its most basic, and especially to me, the crow symbolizes death.
My eyes fall shut as I straighten my arms and exhale, sending my legs up into a perfect handstand. Three deep breaths. In through my nose, out through my mouth. My balance has never been better. Coordination is on point. Core strength? Rock solid. I could probably hold this pose for a couple hours if I really wanted to. But before I even get a chance to gloat, Scarlett smacks her gum from across the room.
“You’re losing focus, Mack.”
I smirk and melt into Scorpion pose without a response. She knows damn well I’m as focused as I’ve ever been, but she’d rather die than admit it. Scarlett doesn’t want me to go on my insane pilgrimage. Over the last few months she’s resorted to some pretty creative speeches as testament to that, so the fact that we’re back to this old ploy tells me this is her last ditch effort. It would be sweet if she didn’t look so defeated.
Dressed in the second skin she calls a black dress and tall red heels, there’s no doubt where she’s off to tonight. Out of ten, Scarlett’s a fifteen. A drop dead knockout. It’s too bad she doesn’t even know it. Her brunette hair is teased to perfection as always, her hazel eyes lined with Kohl, and her cute little glitter clutch is no doubt chock full of condoms.
Scarlett’s a call girl, and another friend I picked up on the street. It just so happened to be her dark alley that two guys pushed me and Tal into one night. I was thirteen at the time, and hard as bricks for my age, but not tough enough to take on two guys. Scarlett was four years older, and a hell of a lot wiser, and also… she carried a knife. She saved me that night, much as it pains me to admit it.
We aren’t as close as Tal and I were, but we’re about as close as two people like us can be I suppose. She’s just another run of the mill kid who fell through the system’s cracks with a story that managed to thaw even my cold heart. If there’s anyone who knows what makes a man tick, it’s Scarlett.
Easing back onto the floor, my gaze finds hers as I stretch out my legs. “The day I lose focus is the day that I die.”
Those were my father’s words, and they’ve never been truer. He lost focus when he got involved with the Russians, and now he’s six feet under. I don’t want to believe I’m destined to the same fate, and yet this world keeps pulling me back in.
“You want to know what I think, babe?” Scarlett crosses her legs and smooths out a wrinkle in her dress.
“Nope.” I roll my neck from side to side until it cracks. “I don’t.”
She continues on anyway. Our usual routine.
“I think you should take all of that money you saved up, give it to that private investigator of yours, and focus on things you can control. Like going to college or doing something with your life.”
“Hmmph.” I snort. “Says you. How come I can do that, but you can’t, Scarlett?”
She’s quiet for a moment, her pretty face falling with defeat.
“You don’t have to do this,” she insists.
“And you don’t have to go out tonight and sell your body,” I retort.
She sighs and finishes for me. “And yet we both will.”
“It is what it is, Scarlett. We’re fucked up. But Talia…”
I don’t finish that thought. There’s no need to. We both know that Talia was the most fucked up out of all of us. She never stood a chance. Even now, speaking her name makes my chest constrict with grief. Scarlett can see it, but doesn’t make a big production of it. She knows me better than that.