Total pages in book: 132
Estimated words: 120472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120472 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 602(@200wpm)___ 482(@250wpm)___ 402(@300wpm)
I swallow hard, hating the rush that rocks through my body. The last guy had cut the brothers short, stole a couple grand right from under them, and as a general rule, Roman, Marcus, and Levi are the only assholes around here allowed to get away with something so devious. He was shot before getting a chance to grovel for forgiveness. His acquaintance stepped up into the lead role with an added incentive that he would be rewarded if he could replace the money the other guy stole.
Nerves rest deep in my gut. It’s only been a few weeks since then and the guy had no idea what his old boss was selling, only knew a handful of his customers, so luck isn’t on his side. He’s going to have to really work to move all the product and impress the brothers. I bet the guy has been shitting his pants ever since his meeting with us. I know I would be, but there’s no denying it. He did this to himself. He raised his hand and volunteered to make a deal with the three DeAngelis devils.
“You don’t think you’ve set the bar too high for this guy?” I ask. “How do you know he’s going to come through with the goods? He told you that he didn't even know what his friend was selling and now he’s got to somehow go out there and sell a whole bunch of that shit. I don’t know …” I muse. “I think this guy is going to let you down.”
Levi shakes his head. “He won’t.”
“How can you be so sure?”
Levi turns back to meet my stare just as Roman shoots toward the other end of the city and sends us in the direction of the roughest part of town. “Look where we’re heading, Shayne,” he says. “Anyone who lives out here has seen a thing or two in their lives. They have connections, all of them, and they know how to get what they need when they need it. This guy was putting on a show for us the other week. There’s no way he didn’t know exactly what his friend was dealing. He barely flinched when the guy got shot and was the first to raise his hand. This is his moment. He wanted this, so I have no doubt that he’ll come through.”
“Besides,” Roman adds, his tone low and secretive as he meets my gaze in the rearview mirror again. “How could he possibly let us down when there’s a pretty girl running the show?”
My brows furrow and I watch him for a moment, his true devilish nature shining through stronger and stronger by the second. “What’s that supposed to mean?” I question hesitantly, my nerves flourishing deep in my gut until they completely take over.
“What do you think it means?” he says, his eyes glistening with darkness. “It’s not even been twelve hours since you told us that you wanted to thrive in this world, that you wanted to be powerful. So, here’s your chance to take the shot, Empress. It’s not enough to learn how to shoot a gun or slit someone’s throat, you need to prove to me that you have what it takes to run this fucking show.”
I glance back at Marcus. Surely he’s about to butt in and tell Roman that I’m not ready yet, that his suggestion is as fucked up as they come, but the motherfucker doesn’t say a damn word. “You’re kidding, right?” I demand, my voice hitching higher and becoming hysterical. “I can’t do that. I don’t even know what I’m supposed to say, or do … or, fuck. This is way over my head here. You can’t be serious. Are you insane?”
“So, what you’re telling me,” Roman continues, “is that you can’t handle the pressure?”
That motherfucker.
My jaw clenches, the idea of Roman thinking I can’t handle it instantly boiling my blood, and damn it, it leaves me absolutely no choice but to storm in there and somehow pull this off.
Fuck, does this make me some kind of gangster or … what do they even call a dealer’s boss? Is there a name for that apart from criminal? A drug lord perhaps? No, that doesn’t seem to fit. An organized crime boss? A Kingpin? A narcotrafficker?
Shit, they all sound stupid.
Leaning forward in my seat, I curl my arm around the front of Roman’s chest and pull it tight under his chin as he goes on driving like I haven’t even moved a muscle. “Don’t worry about me,” I murmur, my voice low and deadly. “I can handle the pressure.”
“You sure about that?” he questions, the pressure on his throat laughable as he pulls up outside a small, run-down property. “This is your one shot. What you do in there tonight will determine what kind of reputation you walk out with, a reputation that will follow you to the grave. If you fuck it up, you will be nothing more than a joke.”