Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94915 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 475(@200wpm)___ 380(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“Irish,” Jean says.
Fucking shit.
Ronan’s man dead on my goddamn turf.
Unfortunately, it gets worse. There are two more injured, one of mine and another of Ronan’s. They tell me the story through pained grunts as one of the other guards bandages their relatively minor wounds.
The deal went down smoothly. Ronan’s driver and his guard brought the truck out to the warehouse and my men came out to meet them. They got out, everyone shook hands, and that’s when men came pouring out from the fields all around them. The gunfight was brutal and fast, and the attackers forced my men back into the warehouse. The driver died on the spot during the initial wave. By the time they got themselves organized and pushed out for a counterattack, the truck was already gone, and only the wounded were left behind.
I exchange a hard look with Jean and pull him aside. My head spins with possibilities as anger flares inside my guts. “That doesn’t sound like Grandpère,” I say quietly and Jean nods his head.
“I agree. It’s got to be Dusan.”
“How the fuck does he know about this place?” I gesture around us. “We’re in the middle of nowhere.”
“I can’t say for sure, but Dusan’s smart. Back when we were allied with him, I’d bet he had us all under surveillance.”
“But even still, he found out when the drugs were going to show up and he set a fucking ambush.” I grab Jean by the arm, finger digging into his muscle. “Somebody talked.”
Jean pulls himself away and kicks at some shell casings. “They could’ve gotten lucky. They could’ve guessed.”
“We both know that’s bullshit.”
He grunts and runs a hand through his hair. “I really don’t want to think that we have a traitor right now.”
“How many people knew about this drop-off?”
“The men here. I personally vetted them all. Beyond that?” He shrugs and gestures in the air. “It was just between us and Ronan.”
“Then we’d better keep this quiet for now. Dusan got to someone in our crew—find whoever it was.”
Jean grunts in reply, and before I can give him more commands, a truck roars down the road and comes to a screeching halt.
“Well, fuck,” I grumble as Ronan Hayes gets out with guards shadowing his every step. The big Irish boss gives his dead driver one hard look before spotting me and storming over.
“What the fuck happened here?” he barks at me, snarling like an unhinged dog. “My soldier is dead. My truck is missing.”
“My shipment is missing with it,” I say, getting right in his face, not backing down.
“Explain, Julien, before I lose it. You’re the one that wanted this delivery here tonight instead of our usual place. Make me understand.”
I tell him what I know. He listens, looking impatient. “I believe it was Petrovic hitting us back for the attack on his safehouse the other night,” I finish, crossing my arms and holding Ronan’s stare.
He curses and paces back and forth. Normally, he’s a levelheaded guy with a light heart and a good sense of humor, but right now he’s all Irish mob boss. The rage coming off him is palpable, and I can’t blame him. This must look like a goddamn shitshow from his perspective.
“You’re dragging me into a war,” he says, finally turning on me. “This trash with Dusan. What the hell were you thinking?”
I want to tell him about Grandpère, but those are only excuses at this point. “It’s about long-term survival. Dusan has territory I need, and I’m in a position to take it. There’s nothing personal.”
“Motherfucker.” Ronan leans toward me like he wants to hit me in the face, and honestly, I wouldn’t blame him. “You married one of my girls. You built this bond between our families, and then you went after Petrovic. You fucking planned this, didn’t you?”
God fucking damn it, he’s completely right to think that. “That wasn’t my intention,” I say, keeping my voice level, but even I don’t believe it. There’s no way Ronan isn’t going to see everything I’ve done as some devious plot to drag him into a fight he doesn’t want, and really, that’s giving me a lot of credit. But once again, Grandpère has backed me into a corner, and I find myself defending a fight I don’t even want to begin with.
“You’re full of fucking shit. Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t call off our alliance.”
“I’m still married to Brianne,” I say, meeting his stare.
His face hardens. “You’re going to use her against me?”
I drop my voice and move closer to him. “Did you know what her father was doing to her, you selfish fuck?”
His expression falters and his skin pales. His hands tremble with anger and he stays right in my face, not backing down. “What’s that have to do with anything?”
“You act all righteous, and yet you knew that girl was being abused, and you didn’t do shit about it.”