Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55171 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 276(@200wpm)___ 221(@250wpm)___ 184(@300wpm)
“He’s a fucking idiot for being such a genius,” Seamus frowned. “But I expect more from you. You heard what I said right? He isn’t used to family. Isn’t used to having people to lean on.”
“Yeah?”
“Let me remind you about the advice you gave to Owen a few weeks ago after taking a bath in rum. You’re a Finn, you said. We go all in or not at all. All in or not at all. Do those sound like the words of a man who’d let a little thing like being sent away for your own good get in your way?”
“You think he sent me away for my own good?”
Seamus glanced at Solomon, who nodded. “A part of you thinks it too, otherwise you would have taken my calls. Think about it, Brady. You were there, looking into those men’s eyes, close enough to touch them. And Tanaka is the one that put you there. The same men who smiled at you were responsible for that blood-soaked crime scene we found only hours later, and erasing your connection to Grimes. It crossed my mind they could erase you just as easily, which is why I lost my temper.”
Still… “He told me to leave so casually, like I’d just been there to install a fucking light bulb.”
“My guess is he knows you,” Seamus offered kindly. “You’re a big man with a big heart, Brady. If he’d showed you how much it hurt him, nothing he said would have convinced you to leave.”
That big heart started to race. Like it was waking up for the first time in days. He looked over at Solomon. “What about you? Do you think I should go all in? What if things aren’t over with the Slaver’s Club? What if we have to deal with those bastards again?”
Solomon shook his head. “I hope that day never comes, but I’m not an idiot. And I know you’re not the kind of man that walks away from a fight. Not when it matters.” He lifted one shoulder. “If it gets too dangerous… If that happens, don’t forget you’ve got family who loves you. And some of us own guns.”
Brady got up from the bar stool and slung his arm around Solomon’s shoulders. He got a lot of flak for being too uptight, but Brady knew that he’d been the one to raise them. Not their father. Solomon had forgone fun and a life of his own because he had five brothers to take care of. “Thank you, Younger.”
“I told you I hate that nickname. Now stop drowning in your root beer and act like a man. And just be happy, damn it.”
A few hours later, he wondered if Chief Finn would approve of the fact that his first attempt at being happy included breaking and entering.
He hadn’t really had a choice, Brady told himself as he jabbed with his left, the force of his blow jarring his shoulder. Ken wouldn’t answer his phone and Brady had never thought to make a spare key to the warehouse.
Throwing out another punch, he wiped the sweat off his face with his forearm—since his hands were encased in Ken’s MMA sparring gloves—and scowled. Where was Tanaka right now? It was still light out, but maybe the club was already open. Maybe he should call Tasha and see if she knew someone there who could find out. Someone who could tell Brady if Ken was busy “playing” with someone. If he seemed relieved to have things back to normal.
And maybe you could act like a grown man with balls instead of a teenage girl. Tighten up, Marine. He’ll have to come home eventually.
He hadn’t been planning it. Breaking in. But Trick wasn’t the only one who knew how to pick a lock, and when the police didn’t show up in the first twenty minutes, Brady knew Ken hadn’t reset his security systems since he smashed the hell out of his hard drives and disconnected the cameras. It was going to take some elbow grease to get this bat cave up and running again. Ken would need help with that.
“Jesus,” he muttered, punching the heavy bag more aggressively and finishing off the combination by driving his knee hard into his imaginary opponent’s ribcage. He was pathetic.
Brady danced around the bag, throwing kicks and elbows, trying his best to wrench it from the steel anchor it swung from. Trying and failing to work off his nerves. He’d been doing a lot of that since he got here. Push-ups. Pull-ups. Jump rope. Weights. He’d gotten so drenched he’d taken off his t-shirt, and then his jeans, until all he had on were his boxers.
“If he doesn’t get home soon, I’ll go for a naked run, get arrested and he’ll never know I was here.”
And now you’re talking to yourself.