Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
“That he had a purpose, and it wasn’t saving your sister. No, he was saving a brother. So that you could do this”—he gestures between me and Maxine—“get married to an angel, start popping out kids, have a full fucking life. So if I took that life now and made his sacrifice worth nothing, I’d be betraying him worse than you did. So instead you’re going to fucking live that life, yeah? You making those fucking kids yet?”
My throat’s real damn tight. “Not yet.”
Because she’s mostly recovered, but pregnancy is a hell of a strain on a body. So we’re still putting that off a bit—and her birth control is real this time.
“When you do, maybe you name the first one after him. And you and me, we’ll consider this shit settled.” He leans forward, eyes burning into mine. “We ain’t ever going to be brothers again. But there’s a life he should have had, and maybe that goddamn tumor would have taken it from him, maybe it wouldn’t have. All I know is, he put that future in your hands. What could have been his life is now yours, so you take care of what he gave you.”
A life with Maxine. “I’ll take real fucking good care of it.”
“Good.” He sits back, then looks to her. “So that’s done.”
“No,” she whispers, eyes brimming. “Because Crash would have wanted the same future for you, too. And for you to take care of it—and yourself.”
“I know it. I’m just getting there the long way around.” His voice is real thick. “So let’s talk about something we’ll all be looking forward to, and tell me: Who the fuck is Papa, and how are we taking him out?”
* * *
His name’s Elliot Pearce. Which doesn’t mean shit to Maxine, Handlebar, or me—or probably anyone outside of casino construction. His grandfather broke ground on some of the old, big name casinos, his father carried on the tradition, and Papa came up into the world with a whole lot of contacts in Las Vegas and a whole lot of money. The kind of Vegas royalty that isn’t the glitz and glamour but sheer power in the labor unions…and in the dirty underbelly, too.
We figure that’s where he got the bright idea to start up his own high-stakes game in the Cage, along with all the contacts he needed in Caballo, the Greek, and every other cartel- and mafia-connected piece of garbage that I spent the last year taking down.
The best fucking part is that Elliot Pearce looks real good on paper. So at first glance, it seems like we’ll be heading into a war with his security on one side and us on the other. But when we get eyes on him at his big oasis villa about fifteen miles west of the Strip, turns out the fucker hasn’t been having a good year. Apparently he got real damn lazy on some projects and his company’s barely afloat, getting outbid left and right. His security’s down to a team of four, and word is that Papa hasn’t been paying his bills. I’m guessing because all the money that was supposed to come in from the Cage didn’t come in.
Ain’t real sorry about that.
Still, this won’t be a simple thing. His villa’s up on a high ridge looking out over the city and it’s a goddamn fortress. So we pay real close attention to his comings and goings. Likely that’ll be how we have to get him. But even that won’t be quick and easy. Maybe that asshole has a whole bevy of people looking to kill him, because he only travels in armored sedans with bulletproof glass. Which means an ambush or a sniper rifle won’t do much good.
It’s frustrating as hell, but there’s only one way to do this: real patient and real smart. Because all this time, Papa’s been patient and smart, too. And although I want Papa—and I really want his fucking guards, because they put bullets in my girl—better to spill their blood than ours by rushing in too quick.
That patience pays off a few days later. My phone lights up with a message from Zoomie, who’s currently got eyes on him.
He and his security just left his house.
At four o’clock in the morning. Which could be any number of reasons.
Then she follows up with, Just got onto the freeway. Looks like he’s headed north out of town.
Maxine’s sleeping beside me after a long night of watching the villa. We only got back to our room about two hours ago. But she can sleep on the way.
I kiss her awake, but even as she smiles and gives a sexy little moan, reaching for me like she usually does when I wake her up this way, I have to tell her, “Get dressed, angel. I’m tagging the others and we’re heading out.”