Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 47176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 236(@200wpm)___ 189(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
She smiled up, then the smile vanished, and I knew why.
In an effort not to lean over and kiss her, I stared as if I hated her. I stared the same way I would at a man back in the day if I had to intimidate him.
I bet it was the same way I looked at that dealer earlier. That’s what I have to assume, anyway, since her smile vanished, and she even flinched a tiny bit as if debating taking a step away from me.
Now, I walk down the hallway, down to the front desk.
I need to be around people – or my dogs – anybody who will distract me from Jennifer. I’ve done my best to keep away from her.
Kelly’s a good person. She cares about her sister a lot. I respect her wishes for me to stay away from her and her family.
I get it. The need to be nowhere near her. She wants her real life and the short adventure she had with me – if it can be called that – to be as separate as possible.
But it’s not as easy for me, with her sister in my thoughts endlessly, with the temptation of her wide hips and her kissable lips. And the sinking feeling in my gut, one I rarely get, when her smile turned to a frown of disappointment.
What other choice did I have?
I almost run into Peggy, my receptionist, as I walk into the lobby.
She’s in her mid-fifties, with a head of dyed yellow hair and sleeve tattoos hidden away right now beneath a dress shirt.
“Ah, Jamie,” she says. “Just the man I was looking for.”
“What’s up?”
“Your five-fifteen has canceled.”
“Right,” I say, nodding. “Then I’m going home.”
“I’ll close up once Charley’s done.”
“Thanks, Peggy.”
The evening suddenly feels wide open. My mind goes to Jennifer, as it often has since the breakup. It’s been one week since Kelly and I agreed to stay apart.
Is a week long enough to wait before going after her sister?
I laugh grimly under my breath.
A week? A year, two, three, a decade wouldn’t be long enough.
Outside, I take a stroll down the street to the corner where that dealer was standing before. He’s gone, but I notice a man I vaguely recognize leaning against the wall.
He’s tall, bald, and wears a vest that makes him seem ridiculous but serves to highlight his steroid-infused muscles. About half my age, if I had to guess. I wonder if I could take him if it came down to it. I know I’d fight like hell.
But he’s not here for that.
“Got a message from the boss….”
“Not my boss,” I cut in.
The man winces. “Sorry. My boss. You know who I mean.”
Cormac Anderson, leader of a mostly Irish crime syndicate. I’ve got contacts in most of the major crime organizations in the city, not that I have a desire to talk with any of them, ever. But it’s necessary.
Knowing them keeps my business safe and every business on this block. And they know better than to try and loan-shark us or pull any protection-racket shit. They know what would happen.
Fists aren’t a man’s only weapons.
“Right,” I say.
“It won’t happen again,” the man says. “But he also said you can’t talk to his men that way.”
“I’m supposed to respect some drug-dealing fuck who wants to ruin my business?”
Careful, Matt whispers in my ear as he often does.
He always was more sensible, calmer.
“Boss wanted me to give you this,” the man says, reaching for his pocket.
I tense up, getting ready for him to pull some crap.
But I did a quick scan of the surrounding area as I approached and didn’t notice anything. The sun hasn’t even set yet.
If they were going to try and kill me, it wouldn’t be like this.
The man brings out a small folded piece of paper, handing it over.
“Have you read it?” I ask.
“The boss told me not to.”
Opening it, I read the words, hearing them in Cormac’s raspy voice.
If word gets out that I let you talk to my men like that without punishment, it’s going to make things difficult for me.
I curl my hand into a fist, crushing the paper and staring at the man.
It’s a confusing relationship, the one I have with my time overseas. Sometimes I wish I was back there, and sometimes I regret ever going.
But now, I wish I was back with a clear mission.
A target. No room to hesitate or make mistakes.
Drilled to perfection.
“Are we good?” the man says.
I nod. “Reckon so.”
Walking by him, I think about leaving the city, selling out, and finding someplace new, someplace I don’t have to think about Matt or my past or any of it.
Driving home, memories of Jennifer come back to me. I remember the way she smiled once, a brief look, meeting my eyes with hers wide and innocent and full of insecurity…but also with a hint of daring, like she thinks we could make this work.