Total pages in book: 178
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 170884 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 854(@200wpm)___ 684(@250wpm)___ 570(@300wpm)
When I heard her come up behind me and when she came into view, leaning her hip on the sink to face my side, I lifted my eyes to meet hers. She all but whispered, “He adores you, you know.”
She could’ve said anything. I didn’t know why she chose to tell me that rather than asking me about the suspicious change of afternoon plans, but I was thankful for it. Thankful for her.
“The feeling’s mutual, Lex.”
Her hand came down on my shoulder and she gave it a light squeeze before walking away. She reached the hallway, when she spoke again, “I know.”
Something warm and thick stirred in my chest, and I wasn’t sure why, but I felt like crying then.
I rinsed my mug and set it down to dry.
Zoe Braemore was about to learn that even though A.J. didn’t have a father, he had a family who loved him to. And not all families were blood related.
My car squeaked when I pulled in to park directly out front of A.J.’s school. It was barely audible over the loud purring rev of Big Red’s engine, but I heard it and frowned.
I made a mental note to check the break pads when we got home.
Backup hadn’t arrived yet, but he said he’d be there and I knew he would be.
I understood why he was doing me this favor without question.
It was because of A.J.
This kid, this sweet, naïve child, had no idea the connections he had in the underworld or the legacy he held. The son of Antonio ‘Twitch’ Falco, quite possibly the most dangerous man in the world at one point. The godson of Julius “The Law” Carter, a man who was judge, jury, and executioner of the underworld. He called Farid ‘Happy’ Ahmadi, the son of Persian mobster Omid Ahmadi, his uncle.
Together, these men, they were the holy trinity of the underground.
If you got in their good favor, you were golden. Set for life.
Without Julius, I never would have met Lexi. Never would have met A.J. And my life would have been poorer for it.
I owed Julius. Owed him big time.
He knew it. I knew it.
I had no idea how to repay him, and I fucking hated being indebted.
You’ll figure it out.
Well, I’d fucking have to. He’d make sure of it.
The black Hummer pulled up, and although I couldn’t see who was inside, I pushed off Big Red, my ‘74 supercharged Holden Torana SL5000. She was a beauty and all I had left of my mother. One ginormous figure stepped out of the car. He was daunting—I’d give him that.
Hemi spoke, and his New Zealand accent always made me laugh. “Hey, Molly love.”
What it actually sounded like was, “Huy, Molly luff.”
“Hemi.” My lip twitched. “Thanks for coming.”
He was just over six feet tall and weighed around four hundred and forty pounds. He was intimidation ensnared. With his shaved head revealing his tattooed scalp, he was downright scary. Which was why I chose him for this task.
“Kids, man.” He shook his head, looking mildly agitated. “Don’t dig this bullying bullshit.”
A bubble of laughter tried to claw its way up my throat, but I swallowed it down. It was funny that a man who regularly beat the shit out of people didn’t like bullies.
Did Hemi realize he was a bully?
I’d say no, because Hemi wasn’t exactly the sharpest tool in the shed.
When I heard the Hummer open, then shut again, I peered around Hemi to whomever it was he brought with him. I had to look hard at the second guy, but when he got close enough, my mouth parted in surprise.
Oh, no, Hemi, you incompetent fuck.
“Tama.” His name came out breathy and choked.
“Molly,” was all he uttered, rough and short.
My heart started to pound.
He didn’t have to say anything more. I mean, really, what else could he say?
His disinterest said it all.
If Hemi was daunting, Tama was straight up frightening.
“Oh, shit,” Hemi muttered, but what really came out was, “Oh, shut.” He scratched at his head. “I’m thinkin’ that maybe Tama wasn’t the best person to bring with me today, Moll.”
My eyes drifted away from the new addition to Tama’s face. He’d finally done it and got his Tā moko. His nose, chin, and neck were tattooed in a traditional Maori design. I wonder what he’d done to earn it.
Once upon a time, I would’ve had the honor to ask. As it were, I’d lost that right. I’d lost it a while back.
I blinked at Hemi, sarcasm oozing from my statement. “You think?”
Not picking up on that sarcasm, he nodded once before going on a mindless semi-rant. “Well, yeah, because of your guys’ history and all, you know? Like when you—”
I cut him off, speaking far too quickly and almost yelling my response, “I know, Hemi. I was there.”
Tama was a beautiful man. He wore his long black hair traditionally, up high in a top-knot. He once told me a lifetime ago the style he wore it in was called Tiki.