Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98207 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 491(@200wpm)___ 393(@250wpm)___ 327(@300wpm)
She has a black and tan face with a white stripe down the middle leading straight towards a big black nose. Two ears that are entirely too large for her head perk up as she leaps up and down on the kitchen tile and makes a variety of odd noises. Her tongue hangs out the side of her mouth as she attacks my leg and I try to shoo her away.
“What is he doing with a Corgi?” Conor asks.
“A Corgi?” I repeat.
“Yeah.” Conor points at the fluff tugging on my pant leg. “That’s a Corgi.”
“How can ye tell?” I try to push it away with my foot.
“Uh, it’s pretty obvious,” Conor replies. “What are we going to do with it?”
I stare down at the animal and find myself at a loss for words.
“You aren’t going to kill it,” Conor says. “Are you?”
I push past him, slamming the door behind me. I do not kill animals. Or women. Or children. Conor should know this, but people always misread me.
“We can sort it out after,” I tell him. “For now, ye need to focus on clearing out anything we find here. Cash, paperwork, documents with his name on it. The only thing I want left when we’re done here is his furniture.”
Conor glances at the dog one more time and then shrugs. “Whatever you say, Fitz.”
Chapter Three
Ronan
“What does it eat?” I ask.
Conor points at a bag of dog food, and I grab it without looking at the label.
“It’s got a pink collar,” Conor observes. “And it looks like there might have been a tag on there at some point.”
“So?”
“So it probably belongs to somebody,” he says. “I don’t see Donny buying a dog a pink collar. Or even taking care of one for that matter. There weren’t any dog toys or even food in the house. Maybe it’s one of his whores.”
The lad does have a point, but it makes little difference now.
“I could take it to the pound,” he offers. “Someone might adopt it.”
I imagine the place he’s speaking of, and all I see are four cement walls and nothing but darkness. I don’t like his suggestion. I ignore him and grab a few other things off the shelves before I walk to the checkout.
When we get back to my house, I hand Conor the key and pop the boot on the beamer.
“Feed it for me, will ye? I have business with Crow.”
“You know you can’t just leave it for days at a time, right?” Conor asks. “You’ll have to come home every few hours and let it out. Make sure it has food and water. You know, actually keep it alive.”
“That’s what I have you for,” I tell him.
He grunts and shuts the door, and I wait until he’s inside before I drive back to the club. Once inside, I head straight to the bar and order two glasses of Jameson neat. Crow won’t be here for another thirty minutes, so I’ve got time to kill. I walk towards the rear of the building, slipping into the VIP room unnoticed. Or so I’d hoped. Within two minutes of entering, Kaya slinks in my direction.
“Hey, Ronan,” she greets me. “Want some company tonight?”
“No,” I answer tersely.
The same answer I always give her.
She rolls her eyes and follows my gaze to the stage. It’s no secret I’m here every night that I’m able. When Sasha works. She doesn’t know that, but Kaya does. She found me back here in the shadows one night and has taken it upon herself to bother me ever since.
Lately that hasn’t been as frequent on account of me having to babysit Crow’s troublemaker Mack. She came into the club and turned everything on its arse with her lies and her agenda. But regardless of that fact, Crow was mad for the girl and I was saddled with guard duty until he sussed out her motives. That, I reason, is how Donny must have been getting to Sasha. Coming here when I was preoccupied so he could put his filthy hands on her.
“You know,” Kaya’s voice breaks through the silence, and I blink up at her. I don’t know why she’s still standing here. “I think we might have a problem on our hands, Ronan. And I’m really not sure who to talk to about it.”
She’s making a whole production with her lips. Pushing them out like she’s pouting. I tilt my head and try to work out what it is she wants from me.
“What sort of problem?” I ask.
“Sasha’s been popping an awful lot of pills lately,” she says. “I think maybe she’s turning into a junkie or something.”
My response is hasty and uncontrollable. Before I can cop onto myself, I’ve got a hold of her by the arms, glaring down into her terrified face.
“Do ye like working here at Slainte?” I ask her.