Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82945 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
“No, you stupid fucking idiot,” he says, grinning. “You should pursue Fiona because it will make you realize that your dreams have been a waste of time until now.”
I blow out a breath, sip my drink, and think back to Orin in that office. Stressed, crumbling Orin, looking like a completely different man. The guy I wanted to work for exists only at that beach, only with his wife and children, but the real Orin, the man inches away from that next level, he’s a mess of a human being. The sort of mess I can see myself becoming one day.
“It’s hard to convince myself to give up on something I’ve always wanted.”
“You’re not giving up,” Evander says. “You’re changing your mind. There’s a difference.” He leans closer. “But what the fuck do I know?”
He’s right—what the hell does he know? Except when I think about him, and Ford, and Carmine, I can see what he means. How their ideas about the world have shifted, narrowed, changed dimension until they crystallized. How all three men are so much happier than I’ve ever seen them. The only other one of us that hasn’t paired off is Lanzo, and who knows if that guy will ever find a wife—he’s chaos incarnate.
We finish our drinks. My head’s spinning as we leave the bar—not from the alcohol, but from the realizations churning in my guts.
All my life, I think I want one thing. I tell myself I want one thing. Fame, fortune, power. Anything to keep myself from sinking back into the life I used to have with my parents, a life of struggle and drinking and pain. I keep women at a distance, thinking I’ll always let them down.
Maybe all this time, I’ve been wrong.
My phone rings. I check the screen and freeze, stopping suddenly on the sidewalk.
It’s Liam Crowley.
I’m tempted not to pick up, but anything might set that man off. I answer cautiously. “Hello,” I say.
“Gareth.” Liam’s voice is flat through the speaker. “I’m in Dallas. I was hoping we could meet and discuss some business.”
“Business?” I clear my throat. “I’m in Chicago right now.”
“That’s all right. I’ll be here for another day or so. When do you fly home?”
“Tonight.” Even though that wasn’t the plan. “I can meet with you in the morning?”
“Make it midafternoon,” he says. “We have a lot to discuss.”
He hangs up the phone. I stand there, staring, wondering if, finally, all the work I’ve done building this lie will crumble to the ground.
Chapter 45
Gareth
Liam Crowley sits across from me in a barbecue restaurant he picked out. The place is almost garish, a gaudy mix of cowboy clichés: big hats, boots, spurs, ropes, steer, bison, more than one stuffed head, a bunch of bleached antlers, and a ton of rustic-looking wood completes the hideous decor.
“Never been here before,” I say, glancing around, trying my best not to make a face.
“I hear the food’s good,” Liam says without smiling. I genuinely can’t tell if he’s kidding or not. “But we’re not here to eat.”
“We could order something,” I say, craning my neck, looking for a waitress, suddenly curious.
“No, thank you.” Liam sits back in his booth. “This place is neutral ground. Somewhere you or your friends would never visit. It’s also ugly enough that I want to spend as little time here as possible. So why don’t we get to business?”
I sit up straight, holding his gaze. “Whatever you want,” I say, gesturing at him. “You called this meeting, Liam. Why don’t you tell me what’s on your mind?”
Liam’s gaze falls on me. He holds it there for a long, tense moment. Nothing flickers behind those eyes—no emotion, not recognition, nothing at all. Cold and dead.
This guy’s fucking unstable.
I’ve deal with dozens of gangsters in my time. From straight-up murderers to psychopaths, drug dealers, addicts, thieves, and more. I’ve met them all, defended a few. I thought I knew the criminal mind.
Until sitting across from Liam.
He’s got no affect. No tells, no emotion. I can keep a straight face and control myself as well as a professional poker player, except there are always tells. I fidget slightly, adjust my silverware, look away, down at the table, clear my throat. It’s subtle, but it’s there.
Liam’s got nothing. Blank, empty, nada. The guy’s like a ghost of a person.
“I had business in Las Vegas two days ago,” Liam says calmly, like he’s talking about how wet water is. “I thought I was over my suspicions, but something was bothering me. Something about the way you and your wife spoke to each other. And the look on her face that first meeting when you announced your marriage. I chalked it up to surprise, but what if it was more than that? I couldn’t stop thinking about it, and so the day before I left, I went to the courthouse to request a few records. I got your marriage license, found the judge that signed it and had a chat with him. A very lovely chat.”