Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
“And this one is called an Irish Hag Stone, don’t mind the name…it works. They help you live soundly and sleep soundly.”
“An Irish Hag Stone…” It’s a gray rock with a whole in it. “To help me sleep?” I question. I wish I could keep the skepticism out of my voice, but I can’t. It's just a river rock.
“I do have something stronger.” Aria doesn’t sound offended. “We call it sweets, and it’s not a rock…but its side effects might not be good for you right now.”
I swallow hard. Aria’s talking about my mental state, and she’s just used the name of an old street drug.
Addison leans closer to me and gestures for me to take a seat. “Even if it’s all in your head, it’s in your head, and that’s what matters sometimes,” she says, her tone gentle.
“We’ve all been through hard times, Braelynn.”
Aria positions the tray near her elbow, picks up a deck of tarot cards, and shuffles them. She holds eye contact with me as her hands move. “I need you to know we’re here for you. Whether it’s wine and venting or a distraction”—she holds up the cards—"or anything else.”
“We’ve been through it,” Addison says, nodding along. “You should know you have us.”
“I might not be Carter Cross, but I am a Cross.” Addison nods to that, too. “And I want you here.”
I almost ask her why—why do you want me here? But I bite my tongue.
Aria smirks as if she can read my mind. “You don’t have to ask me. You can ask the cards.”
DECLAN
Almost 1:00 a.m. and I haven’t been home.
We came straight to the club even though it’s the last place I want to be. Someone here is a fucking rat. I know it. Hell, it could be every fucking one of them.
The private back room is dimly lit, cigar fog billows from the bar, pool balls smack together, and chatter fills the space.
I’ve never felt this hollow, never felt this numb to the growing rage. As I lift the beer to my lips, all I can think is that I wish I were home with Braelynn.
“It’s important that we stay,” Carter murmurs to me. No longer in all black, he wears his typical suit. Daniel and Jase are down in the basement; we told the men we’ve been there all day and the two of them are wrapping up details of a new deal with a notorious business partner, dubbed N.
As far as they all know, we’ve been here since nearly 6:00 a.m. “When the news breaks,” Carter tells me as if I need reminding, “we need eyes on us here.”
“I know,” I tell him easily and lean back in my seat in the corner booth.
Carter’s curt nod is followed by a gesture to the bartender, Mia. She’s been working all night and the only one here not in the business with us. She knows the deal though. Not that it matters. Tonight I don’t trust a damn soul but my brothers and maybe a few of these guys I’ve known all my life.
It doesn’t stop the thoughts from racing though. Someone in here, who I’ve trusted, is a fucking rat.
“Any update from the lawyer?” Jeffery asks, sliding a chair over. Nicholas is behind him. “I let him know the cops are fucking harassing us.”
“They got no right coming in here like they are,” Nicholas adds. The two are security, broad chested, tall, and nothing but muscle.
“We’ll be able to give you a heads up the next time they’re on their way,” Carter answers and I simply watch for their reaction. Every little detail. Every muscle twitch.
“It’s been nonstop, especially that fucker McKinley.” They’re mostly relaxed given the context, but Nicholas has peeled back the label on his beer bottle.
My men are rattled. Cops come and go; we’ve dealt with this shit before. But for Ronnie and Hale to be dead only weeks ago and now with the reputation of rats, tensions are running high.
I’m sure they’re all thinking the same things: What if they told the cops about me? What if the cops are going to get me next?
“How are you going to know they’re coming?” Nicholas questions, his brow pinched.
Strike fucking one Nicholas. Everyone knows you don’t ask questions. Surely not from the fucking boss. Jeffery arches his neck to look back at his friend, clearly taken aback that he would ask.
“Not your concern,” Nate comes up from behind and gives a smug grin. “You don’t have anything to worry about,” he tells them easily, although Nicholas’s expression morphs to one of realization. “Sorry, boss. Of course,” he says and is quick to scurry off after bowing his head. Jeffery follows, thanking us for our time.
“May I?” Nate asks, gesturing to the seat across from us and Carter nods.
I don’t miss how Jeffery elbows his friend and the stress clearly written on Nicholas’s face. Every moment that passes with this bullshit hanging over our heads is one step closer to chaos and collapse. The two share a shot and the moment passes.