Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 562(@200wpm)___ 450(@250wpm)___ 375(@300wpm)
“Arsenio, did your spies tell you what happened in the library?”
His tone sharpened. “What happened?”
“One of the New Boys came to see me,” I said. “Jeremy. He offered me a bribe to report on the Bedlam Boys for him.”
“Makes sense. You are the only person he can hope to turn. I’d respect him even less than I already do if he hadn’t approached you.”
“That’s not the reaction I was expecting.” I fixed myself better, smarting up in the mirror as we neared the Highland. “I thought you’d be calling the guys to break his teeth.”
“Did you agree to do it?”
“I told him to come back with a better offer. If he does, I’ll agree and pass on whatever bullshit you guys tell me to.”
“Hmm.”
I was beginning to understand his grunts and hums. That was definitely pleased.
“You might be worth keeping around, de Souza.”
“That was never in question.” A sassy reply for a man who stood no back talk, but we covered that a meek little flower wasn’t what the Bedlam Boys wanted.
His chuckle proved it.
“One more thing,” I said. “You may want to hire someone else to clean the house. Or skip the cleaning services completely. Thirty-thousand-dollar bribes are pretty effective.”
“Noted.”
Arsenio turned on the street leading to the Highland, and drove past it. He parked in the lot for a restaurant movie theater and came around to open my door.
“The Highland is closed right now. Verlice shuts down every Tuesday for a private event. He’ll be inside prepping.”
“Is he expecting you?”
“I’m sure he is.”
Arsenio took us in through the back. A cinder block wedged in the door, leaving it open for all looking to skip the breaking and entering charge. We came in by the kitchen entrance, stepping out into the main pub. The Highland Arms was a stately place with a long bar, red-topped stools, a wall of every kind of alcohol you could imagine on one side, and a parade of flags on the other.
“Nice place,” I said.
“Yes, it is.” Arsenio was a massive presence filling the room. That didn’t make sense till you met a man who owned every space he walked in. It wouldn’t make sense till you met Arsenio Creed. “That bottle of Macallan is worth two million dollars.”
I choked. “Excuse me? Did you just say two million?”
He nodded.
The slim bottle with its simple white label hung around the rest on the whiskey shelf like it was no big deal.
“He has two million dollars behind the bar, and he just leaves the back door open? What kind of insurance nightmare is this guy?”
“He’s counting on his patrons being too ignorant to know what they’re looking at.” His Oxfords were soundless on the hardwood, brushing past me. Arsenio slipped a finger under my shirt—the briefest touch burning through my skin and tingling after he went away. “The whole place is a fuck-you to the IRS. Even the walnut bar top set him back a good amount.”
Glancing over my shoulder, I eyed the door we came in. Once Arsenio was absorbed in talking to this Axel guy, I’d duck out. I wasn’t too far from Frankie’s place. Once there, I’d called the other women to come meet me.
“Where is he?” I asked.
“Downstairs. Prepping for his guests like I said.” Arsenio picked a pool cue off the rack. “Let’s bring him up.”
“Why do you need the—?”
Arsenio swung at the top shelf—Macallan sitting pretty—and busted the bottles in a shower of glass and alcohol. My scream was a squeak beneath the unholy noise.
“What’s going on?!”
A middle-aged man with flecks of gray in his full beard burst from a door on the other side of the room. He ground to a halt—face frozen in horror at the millions lying in pieces on his bar top.
Arsenio tossed the pool cue on the floor, rolling up his sleeves as he rounded the stools.
“Good afternoon, Axel.”
“What did you do?!”
“The more appropriate question is what did you do?”
I clamped a hand on my mouth, smothering my ragged breaths. This was not a friendly conversation. It was the start of something that was going to get very bad. I would not be a part of it. I was backing out of this room and leaving before either one remembered I was there.
Inching toward the door, I paused as Arsenio kept coming, planting himself in my way.
“I didn’t do anything!” Verlice could be forgiven for his shouting. This was a stressful situation. “I paid on time. Ask Cairo, I paid.”
“You paid our cut of the bar profits,” he said. Arsenio hooked through my jeans, bringing me over to him. My heart raced being molded to his side, drowned in black currants and apple cologne.
Maybe he did read my mind.
“We got word you were running a side business and made plans to return for another visit to collect our back pay. That’s until we found out what your side business is.” The temperature dropped ten degrees. As fast as Verlice’s expression.