Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
“You’ll see,” Fran says. “But be prepared to fess up to everything, Izzy.”
Islan pales. “What do you mean?”
Fran sighs. “You know more than you’ve let on, don’t you?”
Islan grows still as we enter the house. She doesn’t speak at first, then finally asks in a little voice, “How much do you know?”
Fran holds up the recording devices. “That your man’s no more Welsh mob than I’m a fuckin’ virgin.”
God, this woman.
I love her so much it makes me ache. Never could I have imagined being with a woman who brings out so many of my emotions. One moment I want to throttle her, the next I want to make love to her, right before I want to turn her over my knee and spank her senseless. I want to do everything from sit beside her and drink hot tea on the porch to raise our babies together.
She brings out the best and worst in me, the very parts that make me feel alive.
Keenan meets us at the dining room entrance and leads us down to the basement. “Their interrogation room’s down here,” Fran tells Islan, then she flushes, as if she’s just realized she’s revealing she knows more than anyone really gives her credit for.
“Aye,” Islan says, smiling wanly. “I’ve been spending every minute I could with Kane.”
Kane. Her secret lover? Does she even now have feelings for the bloke?
She doesn’t meet my eyes when she says this, likely aware of how badly I want to throttle the son of a bitch. The very thought of someone taking advantage of my sister, of hurting her…
“Islan, he took advantage of you,” I say, unable to understand what she’s thinking.
Both Fran and Islan look at me, and Fran shakes her head. “Just wait and see, Tate, will you?”
We go down the narrow stairs that take us to the bottom floor. Down here, there’s a library, but more importantly, the interrogation room, where Keenan and his crew do much of their business.
There’s a guard at the door when we make it to the room, and I can hear voices on the other side of the door. A moment later, Keenan exits.
“All yours,” he says with a wry smile.
“Thanks, brother. You said his mob thinks he died in the fire?”
“Aye.”
I nod. That may make things complicated or prove useful. Time will tell.
I head into the room with the girls, but it’s Fran who leads the way. As we enter the room, I do a mental tally like I always do to make sure I have the weapons I need.
Gun. Check. Knives. Check. My fucking fists if I need them. Check.
Islan walks into the room with Fran by her side, but to my surprise she isn’t afraid, and doesn’t wear a look of betrayal as I’d expect.
His eyes light up when he sees her, and I want to shoot his bloody brains out just for that. How dare he? But then he sees me and Fran, and he goes still.
In the warehouse, he wore a mask. Now he’s got nothing to shield him from us save a threadbare tee and faded jeans. Even his feet are bare.
I take his gag off, and he nods to me.
“Tate.”
He knows my name. Interesting. And why does he look at me as if there’s something familiar between the two of us?
Fran grabs a chair and drags it in front of Kane, swivels it around, and straddles it. She looks a bit like a wee thug, and I love her for it.
“Kane, you’ve got some answering to do.”
He smiles wryly at her, then looks at me. “I hope you know how smart your lass is.”
I blink in surprise. He has an American accent. Islan’s eyes don’t register any surprise, and neither do Fran’s.
“You’re not Welsh.” My words come out more like an accusation than anything.
He shakes his head. “No. Keenan told me to tell you everything, says the Welsh believe me to be dead.”
“Aye.”
He nods. He looks to Islan when he speaks. “If I tell you the truth, my life is forfeit to every mob in the UK.”
“Understood.”
“Allow me to make it easier for you,” Fran says, looking awfully pleased with herself. “You, sir, are an Interpol spy.”
He blinks and smiles wanly. “Correct.”
“You were placed within the Welsh mob, inducted as a new hire, but the entire time you were a mole. You had surveillance equipment set up in the warehouse so you could report the interactions of all the Clans when they came to a head.”
“Also correct.”
She looks to Islan, then when her gaze swivels back to him, it’s icy. “You dated my friend because she was your access to the Cowens.”
“Not so,” he says. “We met each other last year, and I was taken with her.” He looks at me. “But I stayed with her to keep her safe, not so I could harm her.”