Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“And you’re not one of those people?” I can’t believe what’s transpiring here. I fucking hated Lennox Benson. I think I might love him now.
“No. I’m not one of those people. I deal with legit, high-wealth clients. Those with a lot of cash to invest.”
“That side of the business obviously doesn’t pay enough.”
“Not when you’ve got an ex-wife with no morals and a nasty gambling habit, no.”
“So how did you know about this non-legitimate side?”
“I’m not stupid.”
“But you’re also not a mind reader. How did you know where to go?”
“I hacked the company system.”
I recoil. “You did, did you?” Otto better up his game. “And . . .?”
“And found the fraudulent details of various Russian clients. Fake names, fake addresses. But the contact number was always the same.”
“Do you have that number?”
“On my cell.” He pats at his lounge pants and pulls it out.
“Call him.”
“What?”
“Call him.” I get up and start pacing, my fucking head reeling. I give Brad and James a can you fucking believe this? look as I pass them. I hear Benson’s phone ringing, and I move closer, listening. The moment someone answers, my heartbeats increase.
“Do you realize what you’ve done?” the Russian accent drawls. “You killed my men?”
Poor Benson looks white as a sheet. “I was defending my home. My family.”
“If you don’t pay, you pay. You have two days. I have more men. They’ll keep coming.” He hangs up, and I slowly turn to face James. The Enigma doesn’t show much emotion at work these days. His anger has subsided . . . tamed. His face now, though?
Utter shock. “Fuck . . . me,” he whispers.
“Sandy?” Brad gasps, doing what Brad does best. Stating the fucking obvious.
“Well, would you Adam and Eve it,” I say, laughing to myself.
“Wait, you know him?” Benson asks, standing, his eyes jumping around the room.
“Old enemies.” I smile, taking his mobile out of his hand. Oh, how I would have loved to interrupt that call. I check the number. Not surprisingly, it’s different to the one I have.
“Of course.” Benson drops back to the couch, head back in his hands. “Jesus Christ.”
“Listen up, friend,” I say, lowering next to him and smiling. Because now I am definitely Benson’s friend. “I’m going to fix this mess.”
“How? You’re going to pay off my debt?”
Brad chuckles, James smiles, and I huff, unimpressed. “No, Benson, I’m going to kill them.”
“Oh fucking hell.”
“Don’t feel bad. They’ve had it coming for years.” I stand, looking around. “You can’t stay here anymore.”
“Yeah, I know that, Danny.” He rolls his eyes, exasperated by me.
“I think I need a coffee,” I muse, heading to the kitchen. “You got a machine?”
“I can’t cope,” I hear him mutter, following me. “Here.” He steps over the body and pulls a few cups down. “Anyone else?”
“Please,” Brad calls from the lounge. “No sugar.”
“No sugar,” James grunts.
I grin when Lennox looks at me. “Black.” I wander away, leaving Benson to distract himself from his situation for a few moments playing barista. James and Brad are by the window when I get back. “I feel like Candid Camera is gonna pop out of the fireplace at any moment and tell us this is a cruel joke.”
“Are you thinking what I’m thinking?” Brad asks.
“I don’t know, Brad, because I never know what the fuck you’re thinking these days.”
“Me neither,” he mutters to himself, winning both James’s and my attention.
“I think I know what you’re thinking,” James says, a definite hint of glee and excitement in his eyes.
“Coffee,” Benson says, entering with four cups split between two hands. He passes them around and I take my seat again, as do James and Brad.
“No reports of gunshots last night,” James says, holding up his phone.
How, I don’t fucking know. I saw the shotgun. But the police didn’t show up and here we are.
I look around Benson’s lovely Miami property. “We need to burn this place down.”
He coughs over his coffee. “What?”
“Don’t worry,” Brad says, going straight to his phone. “Our pal Ringo is an expert arsonist. He’ll be in is element.”
“And the bodies?”
“No issue,” James muses. “We know where the sharks play.”
The poor bloke looks dazed as he takes some coffee. “Mind if I smoke?” I ask, and he laughs.
“Danny, you do whatever the fuck you like.”
“Thanks.” I light up and throw my packet and lighter to Brad, who follows suit. James declines this time. “So in return for sorting out this mess for you, there’s something you can do for me.”
Benson takes a few deep breaths, bracing himself for what I might demand. “Go on.”
I can’t say I like the fuckhead. True, he’s good in a fight. Has raised a good kid. Drew the short straw on wives. I don’t want him anywhere near Rose, but he could solve the problem of Daniel. Yes, the principal acquiesced—sort of—and allowed Daniel back into the school, but to what end? It won’t be made easy for the kid, no matter what threats I toss around, and I really don’t want to expose Daniel like that or put him in a position where he has to threaten people with Pops’s gold letter opener. Will Rose worry less if he does some distance ed? “You can go back to St. Lucia,” I say, feeling Brad’s focus on my profile. “It shouldn’t raise too many questions given your house in Miami just burned down.” I smile. Benson exhales his disbelief. “And take Daniel with you.”