Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 126003 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 630(@200wpm)___ 504(@250wpm)___ 420(@300wpm)
Meanwhile, Eason continues. “I didn’t have much of a concept of what a racehorse was back then, but Benny had a thing for them too. And right after he bought me, he took me to Japan for some racing. God, that was nice. The whole thing was nice. The horses, the food, the people, the track. It was amazing. Benny was young, not even twenty-five. He felt like an older brother to me. Which, of course, was something I had lost when I was sold in Ireland. And he treated me like a little brother too. If putting one’s little brother in death fights was a thing, of course. Anyway, the point I’m making is that I was a racehorse to these people. A piece of flesh with potential, put up for auction. But ya see, the racehorses? They’re treated like kings, Irina. Best food, best care, best training, best accommodations, best travel. That’s what I got from Benny.”
Eason has been leading me here to this moment the whole time. This intersection. And here we are—at the crossroads—standing in the middle of possibilities.
The end of this story is on the tip of his tongue, but he pauses, like he’s not sure how to say the rest. So I prod him along. Because it’s very clear that there is no Benny here in South Beach. There is no owner. “What happened to him, Eason? What happened to Benny?”
Eason’s eyelids drop. His gaze becomes distant. His lip lifts up in a snarl. And that’s when I see it.
Dead Eyes.
It’s the perfect name for the man across the room from me.
“Ya killed him, darlin’. That’s what happened to Benny. Ya killed him. He was in Cort’s village that day you all made your escape.”
CHAPTER 12
I’m just punching in the code to the penthouse when my phone buzzes. I shove open the door, realize the place is empty and quiet, and then kick it closed behind me and pull the phone out of the side pocket of my cargo shorts.
Unknown number.
My heart skips for a moment. But it’s an irrational hope, so I force myself to breathe and accept the call. “Yeah. Who’s this?”
“It’s Beth.”
I narrow my eyes, thinking. It takes me a couple seconds to put it all together. I huff. “Hello, Beth. What’s up?”
“I had you for a minute, didn’t I? You have no idea how much fun I’ve had thinking about you calling me Beth.”
I crack a smile, then actually chuckle. “You’re dumb.”
“Anyway. I’m calling to invite you to lunch.”
“You have news?”
“Not anything spectacular, but yes. I do have some.”
“Can’t you just tell me now?”
“Of course I could. But I’m inviting you to lunch instead.”
“When? Tomorrow?”
“Right now.”
“Right now? It’s three p.m., Beth.”
“I know. But I’m on that diet—one meal a day. Ever heard of that one?” She doesn’t wait for me to answer. “So I can’t eat until four, otherwise I just want to scarf everything before I go to bed. Plus, if I invite you to dinner it sounds like a date, and it’s not a date.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s a meeting. Completely professional. Business only. Colleagues. Well, now I’ve gone too far. How about… friends? Do you have many?”
“Many what?”
“Friends, Maart.”
“I have four fighters living with me right now.” I look around the place, peeking into bedrooms. “All of whom seem to be missing at the moment.”
“I’m not talking about fighters. I’m talking about friends.”
“They’re all friends, Beth.”
She chuckles. And I smile. I like Beth. She’s kinda fun. And even though she comes off as easy-going and playful, almost unaffected, I know there’s another side to her. And it intrigues me.
“I’m gonna grill you on this tonight, Maart.”
“On what?”
“Your friends.”
“Why?”
“Because you owe me a story. Remember? Don’t worry, though. I don’t want that story. Not yet. Now I’ve said too much. I’ll tell you when you get here.”
“Get where?”
“My place.”
“Your hotel?”
She tsks her tongue. “I don’t live in a hotel, Maart.”
“You don’t live in Rio at all, Beth.”
Now she’s laughing. “That doesn’t mean I don’t have a house here.”
Well. She just upped my intrigue level. “You’re weird, you know that?”
“Yes, I know. I’ll text you the address. Don’t take too long. I’m really hungry.”
The call ends and I just stare at the screen for a moment, shaking my head. Then I press Paulo’s contact in my phone.
He answers on the third ring. “Yup.”
“Where are you? Where is everyone?”
“We’re at the beach, Maart. It’s fuckin’ Saturday. Where have you been all day?”
“I haven’t been gone all day.”
Paulo sighs. “You were in Ipanema, weren’t you? Looking at that stupid billboard.”
I don’t admit to this, but he’s right. Ipanema is just south of here. It’s kind of easy to walk that direction and bump into that fuckin’ billboard.
“She’s fine, Maart.”
“You don’t know that.”
“You know what I do know? If Irina wasn’t fine, she’d get in touch with us. That’s what I do know. This is Irina we’re talking about. She mothered me like a hovering auntie my whole life even though I’m a year older than her. She’s careful, and smart, and she would call if she needed help.”