Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110550 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 553(@200wpm)___ 442(@250wpm)___ 369(@300wpm)
Liam moved to the cabinet. He opened it up to a sight less dramatic than I was expecting. It appeared to be a maintenance man’s closet. There were hammers, pliers, wrenches, a saw, and blades. It quickly occurred to me what Liam expected me to do with them.
It occurred to Vito too. “Fuck you! You can do your fucking worst, you won’t break me!”
“I would prefer not to do my worst,” I said honestly. “Vito, you don’t know much—”
“I know everything! I know they’re coming for you.” Spittle dotted my cheek. “You think you won something because you found me? They’ll know you took me. It’s only a matter of time before they bust through those doors. Neither one of you is leaving this room alive.”
I waited him out. “As I was saying, you don’t know much, but must know something. Where did you meet to make your plans? Or did you do everything over the phone?” I turned to Liam. “Give me a pair of shears, please.” He placed them on my palm without question. “Give me an address or number we can confirm, and this doesn’t have to go further.
“Where do you meet?”
Vito scoffed. “Get the fuck out of my face.”
“How do you communicate with the other brothers?”
“Bitch, if you don’t stop wasting my time. I’m not telling you shit.”
I lifted the shears. Vito tensed the barest fraction. I caught him quickly clenching the armrest. He wasn’t as cool as he pretended.
No one would be when you’re about to take shears to them.
“One last chance,” I said. “Where do you meet?”
His glare said it all.
Rising up, I dropped the tool on my seat. Vito narrowed in confusion as I pulled my phone out of my pocket and held it up to his face. I cleared my throat, and began.
“Hello, my name is Vito Bernardi. I’m the son of Tomas and Elena Bernardi. I live at 487 Roscoe Court in Harlow. I am a part of a criminal organization known as the Brotherhood. We are responsible for four murders that you know of. Many more that you don’t. The La Belle’s car bombing was us. The Harlow warehouse bombings were us. The Harlow bar bombing was me.
“Do not think us cruel. Those deaths were necessary to advance our cause. The Brotherhood is an organization of like-minded individuals who seek to free Cinco City from tyrant rule and restore its natural balance. Many don’t understand our vision. They don’t see the yoke around their necks, chaining them to a corrupt government. Under the Brotherhood you will be free and respected. So committed are we to truth and transparency, I am not hiding my face.
“The government of Cinco has forty-eight hours to donate half a million dollars to the Rockchapel mission. If you do not comply, a bomb will go off somewhere in the city. Mayor Gunderson, you can either improve the lives of Cinconites, or carry our deaths to your grave.
“A government that cares for you won’t need to decide. In forty-eight hours, you’ll know the truth of how they feel.”
With that, I ended the recording and sat down. Vito gaped at me like I was a lunatic.
“What the fuck was that?”
“That, Vito, is the video I’m going to send to the police, the news stations, bloggers, and anyone else I can think of.” Color drained from his face. “The Brotherhood is not only going to become famous, but when that bomb goes off, you and your brothers will become the targets of a citywide manhunt.
“The cops will pick apart your life—combing through your records for forever. All the shady messages, the odd locations you’ve visited, and the new friends you’ve made will be put under a microscope.”
“You can’t do that!”
I plowed on. “The Brotherhood has gotten away with so much because they’ve hidden behind secrecy. How long will that last when everyone knows their name? How quickly will they cut ties with you when you’re denounced as nothing more than a lunatic bomber?”
Vito twisted around, slicing to Liam as if he thought he would help him. “You wouldn’t do it. You’re not going to bomb anyone!”
My hand blurred.
“Ahhh!” Glistening red liquid decorating my new shears.
Calmly, I tore off a piece of his shirt and pressed it to the small cut on his cheek. “They’ll find this by the bombsite and match it to the police record we both know your skeezy ass has. Just so there’s no doubt that you, and your organization, are behind this.”
“You’re not fooling me, bitch!” he barked. “I don’t believe you. You’re not going to do it!”
I shrugged, turning away. “I guess you’ll find out in forty-eight hours.”
“Wait, stop. I said stop.” My boot hit the bottom step. “You don’t know what you’re doing. They’ll kill me!”
“Hmm.” Turning, I leaned against the railing. “I’d guess they’d have to. There’d be a massive target on your back, and since you know so much about the Brotherhood and their plans, they can’t risk you seeing the inside of an interrogation room.”