Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 148949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 745(@200wpm)___ 596(@250wpm)___ 496(@300wpm)
I clenched my jaw. “Get Mufasa ready.”
“And what about the torture?”
I rolled my eyes, turned around, and stormed off.
Idiot!
* * *
Several minutes later, we were riding in the back of the Cullinan.
Now fully clothed, David spoke on the phone, ordering our people around.
Completely annoyed, I watched him.
Like my mouse. . .he has too much power over me.
Had it been any of my other number one’s that had done what he did, they would have been still lying on the floor, chest open, blood pooling around them.
Was it good to have a number one that I cared about?
Surely, I preferred a number one that I could easily kill.
Yet. . .
I groaned in annoyance.
He has the been best and. . .I do care for him.
Frowning, I gazed out of the window.
The sun—a blazing orange ball now turning red—was nearing the horizon.
My phone vibrated against my leg.
Mysh?
I pulled it out and checked the phone.
The name, Lord Petunia, showed up on the screen.
What the hell does he want?
I turned it on and placed it against my ear. “Jean-Pierre, I cannot stress enough how much I do not enjoy hearing your voice.”
Humor laced his words. “Unfortunately for you, Kazimir, my annoying you makes me incredibly happy.”
“Why are you on my phone? Do you not have a beautiful baby girl to be cradling?”
“So you think Marcella is beautiful?”
“I think you should be lucky that your daughter looks like the flute player.”
His voice shifted to annoyance. “One day I am going to give you a lesson on musical instruments.”
A chuckle escaped me. “And one day I am going to give you a lesson on how to properly die.”
“Until then, let us get on with why I called—”
“We know why you called, and as I said many times before, I belong to my mouse.”
Jean-Pierre sighed. “My people say that you will be flying out soon.”
“Those people will soon be bleeding, when I find them.”
“You will never find them, but again, we are off topic.”
“Which is?”
“The Alligator Don.”
I held out my hand. “This is who?”
“Thibaut Leclair. They call him the Alligator Don. He was born and raised in the swamps of Louisiana. Growing up amongst the waterways, he developed a unique understanding of the landscape and wildlife. As a teenager, Thibaut became involved with a small time gang, using his knowledge of the bayous to smuggle goods and evade the authorities. Now he controls all the bayous and is considered the king—”
“Why am I hearing about a king of muddy bayous?”
“Because you should know who you will be respectfully dealing with in New Orleans. And I believe you are not taking my warning from earlier seriously.”
“What warning?”
Jean-Pierre groaned. “The warning about paying certain people the proper respect—”
“You are correct. I am not taking it seriously.” I hung up the phone and was about to put it in my pocket.
But, it rang again.
Now David was off his phone and staring at mine. “Who called?”
“Lord Petunia.”
David chuckled. “What did Jean-Pierre want?”
“To warn me about New Orleans and its leaders.”
“Oh.” David raised his eyebrows. “And what did he say?”
“You mean before I hung up on him?”
David gave me a look similar to one that Emily had given me before. It was the one that screamed that I would be in trouble.
The phone rang again.
David held out his hand. “I should at least be aware of everyone so that I can prepare Valentina and Tisha and monitor everything.”
“I am already pissed off that Baba, Emily, and you did not give me my way. . .and now you want me to listen to Lord Petunia? Are you suicidal today?”
“Please, Kazimir.”
Sighing, I handed him the phone.
David turned it on and pressed the speaker. “Tell us about the leaders, Jean-Pierre.”
“Good evening, King David.” An edge hit Jean-Pierre’s voice. “I am glad that you answered. I heard my cousin suffered a small injury last night over a misunderstanding.”
Huh? David hurt Giorgio? I hope someone has the footage.
I made a note to ask Misha.
David rolled his eyes. “Did the Butler go complain to his mommy? And even more, did you kiss his hurts for him?”
“Oh no. I did not kiss his hurts as you say. But I believe someone kissed him.”
David sneered.
“Lucky for you,” Jean-Pierre said. “My cousin was adamant that I could not get on the plane, fly to Moscow, and handle you—”
“Oh, do come, Jean-Pierre.” A bored expression covered my number one’s face. “I am always up for a perfumed visit.”
I formed my lips into a smile.
Team David.
Silence hit the line.
No doubt the Butcher was seething and thinking of the many ways he could use his sharpened bow on David.
And if he tried, there would be no France. I would blow that fucking country up, until it was just dirt and collapsed buildings sinking into the water.
I really need to see this footage.
Jean-Pierre broke the quiet. “Let us proceed with the topic of New Orleans.”