Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 131455 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 657(@200wpm)___ 526(@250wpm)___ 438(@300wpm)
The door swings open practically in sync with my knock on the door. “I saw you coming,” he explains. He’s in flannel pants, and a plain white T-shirt, so at least he made the effort to prepare for sleep.
By the time I finish rattling off all the details of Sebastian’s call, his brow is lowered to the point where I can barely see his eyes. “You trust him? When he sounded half out of his mind?”
“You know how he is. He can be… theatrical at best.”
“To put it mildly.”
“If he’s holding Moroni for me, I can’t afford to pass up the opportunity. Like he said, there’s only so long you can hold a guy like that before people come sniffing around. This isn’t like Kristoff. There’s no keeping him indefinitely.”
His sigh is heavy. Resigned. “You’re going to go, aren’t you?”
“I can’t afford not to. I need him dead. We all do.” I point at the house, my hand shaking with anticipation. “Those lives in there? They’re all that matters. If I don’t end him tonight, I’m going to regret it. One way or another, I’ll regret it.”
“Give me five minutes.”
“I never said you were coming with me.” I’m talking to the empty living room by now. He’s already getting changed in the adjoining bedroom.
“I swear you’re out of your damn mind. Why would you think I’d let you go alone? You might trust that little shit, but not me.”
There’s no use in arguing, so I don’t bother. I want to get this done and over with. I pull three men together. “I want a man posted at my bedroom door, and one at Tatum’s. We’ll be back as soon as we can. Romero will keep you posted.”
I look over my shoulder to find him leaving the cottage in dark jeans, a leather jacket, and his T-shirt. “Do we have an address?” I hand him the paper and wait as he plugs the address into his phone. “A warehouse. No surprise. It’s in Costello territory, at least. Did he ask Jack for a meeting there?”
“I don’t know. I didn’t ask questions,” I tell him. I’m halfway to the car, which I’ll be driving. I can’t sit passively for another minute. I’ve done enough of that the past few days to last me a lifetime. This is it. I’ve waited so long, craving the sensation of grinding the man into dust under my heel. That craving has only intensified until now, I want blood. Knowing I’m this close to achieving what I’ve waited for is a heady sensation that translates to a heavy foot on the gas pedal. I’m so close. This ends tonight.
“I’ll take the lead.” Romero’s voice is quiet, low. “Just in case. Stay back until I give you the all clear.”
When I don’t answer, he turns toward me. “Boss. I need you to agree with me.”
“We have nothing to worry about.”
“I’m going in first.” When I scoff, he slaps a palm against the glovebox. “Let me do my job. I’m not going to watch you walk into a trap. I need to check and make sure it’s safe.”
“Do what you feel is best.” I’m not going to fight over something this inconsequential when I prefer imagining Jack’s agony. He kidnapped my little bird. He could’ve killed my daughter. He took her mother from her. He tried to use my unborn child against me. There is nothing painful enough for him–but that won’t keep me from trying to make him feel that pain.
The warehouse sits in a quiet part of town surrounded by tall, boxy buildings with darkened windows. They cast long shadows over an empty street, and I swear I taste foreboding in the air. I couldn’t have chosen a better location for what’s about to happen. I know it is. I feel it. He’s nearby, and every breath he takes is one closer to his final gasp. I slow the car to turn into the fenced-off lot.
We’re a few dozen feet from the warehouse when I roll to a stop. Neither of us speaks as we study the scene: five dark cars sit empty and the wide door leading inside the brick structure sits slightly ajar beneath a bare light bulb.
“I don’t see anyone out here,” Romero muses before removing the Glock from his waistband. “That’s a lot of cars to have nobody posted outside.”
“I’ll call him.” I look away from the door long enough to pull up the last incoming number and place the call. When he answers, I mutter, “I’m outside.”
“Come in.” The door swings open, and Sebastian appears. He looks around for a moment before spotting my car, then waves his arm. He’s smiling like a man greeting long-awaited guests.
“He’s either insane or… no, I’m going with insane.” Romero opens his door, and I do the same. Sebastian eyes the gun visible in Romero’s hand—his brows drawn together with concern, but he doesn’t say a word. A good sign. If this was a trap, he’d tell us we don’t need to be armed. It’s what I would do.