Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121946 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 406(@300wpm)
I pick up my phone and dial Gail’s number, calling to inform her of the list of chores I want Payton to do. I honestly don’t give a crap what she does. My house is spotless, but I like to keep her on her feet. So, tonight, instead of the gym or my bathroom, I’m going to have her redo my pantry.
It’s not a nice task to thrust upon her.
Chef will be pissed.
I’ll tell Gail to skip on the laundry and let Payton do that, too.
Yep.
Gail can throw in some extra towels and sheets for good measure. Maybe I’ll tell her to make them extra dirty beforehand. Spill some ketchup on it or something. That thought makes me smile.
With a shake of my head, I focus my attention back on the call. Gail isn’t happy with my tasks. She’s officially joined the dark side. Actually, for a second, her change in loyalties makes me consider the possibility that my side is the dark side.
But I push that thought out and hang up the call.
I stare at the computer screen in front of me.
My fingers hit the keyboard. The tapping drowns out everything else.
I spend the next few hours researching companies I think would be a good investment.
Then when it’s time, I get up, head to my car parked under the building, and leave to meet Lorenzo. I trust my men, as I hired them all from Jax, but you never can be too careful. After all, they let Paul past them earlier.
Traffic is a bitch today, and it takes a good forty-five minutes for me to get out of the city. When I’m pulling onto the docks, it looks to be in its usual abandoned state, but I know better.
I pull up, shut the car off, and get out.
Heading inside, I throw open the heavy metal door. In the corner, I can see that they have a massive shipment a few men are currently going through. I imagine it’s one of Tobias’s shipments of pills.
He’s trying to get out.
Well, he’s gotten out of most.
No longer selling cocaine or heroin, the only thing he still has his hands in is Molly.
I imagine, by the time next year comes, he’ll be fully out.
Or that’s the hope, at least.
Like I said, no one really leaves.
Since he knows I’m coming, Lorenzo is already waiting for me. He’s sitting at the table, a tumbler of scotch in his hands.
I walk over to him, take a seat, and reach for the glass he left for me to use, pouring myself a few fingers.
“Well,” he drawls, leaning back, “since you reached for that drink pretty fast, I have to imagine this isn’t something good.”
“To be honest, I’m not sure what this is,” I admit with a sigh.
“Talk.”
“Is there anything that can lead Paul to the tampering?” I ask. Point blank.
It’s probably not a smart question to ask Lorenzo, seeing as he can easily kill me and find someone else to invest his money for him, but I ask anyway.
Glutton for punishment and all.
“There are no loose ends,” Lorenzo responds, brushing the offensive accusation off with a sip of his scotch.
“Are you sure?”
“Really, pretty boy? Do you want to question me?” He laughs.
There’s no question I think Lorenzo likes me, but that doesn’t mean he appreciates me questioning him.
“Well, someone said something to him.” I shrug.
“What do you mean?”
“I had a visit.”
“From Paul?”
I nod at his question.
“Interesting,” he says, leaning forward in his chair. “Go on.”
“He accused me of not only shorting his stock but also of tampering with his product to short his stock.”
“Wow.” His head bobs up and down. “I’m impressed.”
“Yet I’m not,” I fire back, setting aside my glass because I need to keep my wits. “This was never supposed to get out. How does he know? Who spoke?”
“None of my men said shit.” His tone has lost all sense of humor. Now it’s replaced with an edge to it. Cold and direct.
“Okay, well, it had to be someone,” I respond, trying to tone down the accusation in my voice.
No part of me wants to get killed today. But the way Lorenzo has narrowed his eyes, I’ve done nothing to calm him.
“Are you questioning the people I work with, Trent?” he bites out as a vein throbs on his temple.
Two choices present themselves to me at this moment. Stand my ground. Sure, I might get stabbed. But the other option is to backpedal like a son of a bitch and risk losing his respect forever.
Is my pride worth it?
I decide that it is, mostly because ego is vital in my industry. My clients need to see me as the cocky son of a bitch who’s so skilled, his confidence cannot be breached. Lucky for them, I’m a special type of full-of-myself.
“I’m saying I said nothing. We covered all the tracks on my end,” I say, choosing to stand up to him.