Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 39756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 199(@200wpm)___ 159(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
TWENTY-SIX
Nico
“I’ve got to take this. Excuse me,” I tell Wylder and Celeste. We’re sitting in his office shooting the shit. Celeste was off for the day and asked how Journey was doing, then suggested we needed to get together more often after I texted my wife to see if she’d be interested in hanging out with her brother and sister-in-law. When my phone rings, the number tells me it’s Enzo. I check my watch, realizing that it’s been thirty minutes since Journey responded to my text. They should be pulling up by now, if they aren’t here already.
“Hello.” There is no response on the other end of the line. My senses go on high alert. This week, we hit Petrov where it hurt. Expecting payback, we tightened security around the house, and I went so far as to have a guy with me at all times as well. Not that I’m happy at all about that situation. Journey took it in stride and is even working from our home instead of going to her condo daily.
“Wylder,” I mouth, letting him know that we may need to make a move, and quickly.
“Enzo, talk to me.” He coughs, clearing his throat before responding.
“Get to the house. Journey’s down. Shot Petrov, but we need backup. Call for it.” It’s then I realize he’s fading. I hang up the phone, praying that Enzo was smart enough to cover him and Journey if something else is happening. I make another call.
“Papà, get to my house, please.”
“Nico, what’s wrong?” Dad responds. I can hear him moving, much like Wylder and I are, barreling into his private elevator. The guard that was assigned to me is right beside us.
“I have no idea. Enzo called. I could barely understand his rambling except that he’s down and so is Journey. He shot Petrov. As soon as I’m in the car, I’ll pull up the security feeds. Assume the worst and come in ready for war,” I tell him.
“I’m there. You get here in one piece. Journey’s a tough cookie. Keep your head clear and don’t go out half-cocked.” The click of the phone is the last thing I hear. My father may be right, but when it comes to my wife, I’ll go to the ends of this earth to make sure she’s breathing safely right beside me. Especially after today, the woman won’t be leaving my sight, much less further away where I can’t touch her.
“You got a spare gun in your SUV?” Wylder asks. He’s not one to get his hands dirty himself, preferring to stay as clean as he can even with the money laundering business we run through his hotel to pay us back. The less he knows, the better. That’s why when we gave him the opportunity to keep going after the allotted years are done, he didn’t give us an answer on the spot.
“Yeah.” I nod as I pull up the app on my phone that logs me into the security cameras. The live feed shows me the gate is blown wide open, a guard is down, blood pouring from his body, a car is sitting in the driveway, doors wide open, and two men are shot in the front of the car. Three of my guys are down, but there’s no blood where I can see.
“Son of a bitch. I can’t see Journey anywhere,” I mutter as we make it to the parking garage.
“Fuck, I’m driving. Give me your keys,” Wylder states.
“No can do, Mr. Hayes. I’ll be driving,” Gio states. He already has the keys because of this ridiculous shit of needing him with me at all time. Regret sits deep in my gut, thinking that I should have kept my ass at home today or added more men, going as far as thinking about having Papà stay with her at home. Petrov wouldn’t have made it out of his car with him there.
“Fucking hurry up, then,” Wylder growls as he slides into the backseat. I’m up front, slamming my door, and Gio is reversing out of the parking spot with a squeal of the tires. Meanwhile, I’m pulling my gun out, eject the magazine, see it’s fully loaded with bullets, reinsert it until I hear the click, and use the palm of my hand to pull the slide until a round is in the chamber. Once that’s done, I reach into the glove compartment, repeat the process, and then hand the gun to Wylder.
“Safety is on.” The rest of the way to the house, my leg is bouncing non-stop, no one is talking, and my mind is completely focused on Journey, as well as killing the Russian fuck who is a pussy going after a woman. My woman.
TWENTY-SEVEN
Journey
I can’t say that I’ve ever woken up in a hospital before. Well, I take that back. One time, when I was seven years old, I broke my arm. They had to reset it with pins because I couldn’t quit screwing around after it was first set with a cast. I was too busy doing tom-girl stuff, going swimming after promising to keep it out of the water when that didn’t happen. Coming home in a waterlogged cast didn’t help. Mom would look at me and shake her head. Dad would tote me back to the doctor. They’d redo the cast, and then there I went, using it as a weapon instead of staying calm and allowing my body to heal. It was fun at the time, not so fun when the doctor said I’d need surgery. Then it sucked even worse when I was wheeled away from my parents and brother by the doctor as well as a nurse, into surgery. I remember my mom bawling, reaching for me, my dad holding on to her and my brother both. The worry was real for her like any other parent, but I came out completely okay, asking for popsicles because my throat was sore. After that, I let myself heal and didn’t horse around. The summer sucked, but I behaved after my brother sat me down and told me I’d fucked around enough, that if I had just done as I was told, I’d have been healed already. Of course, it was a lot easier back then. I surely don’t remember being this cold, the constant beeping or the raging pounding going on in my head.