Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75592 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Today I’ve had a barrage of questions about what to pack for our trip, which occurs in four days. Sylvie gets out of school on Friday, and we’re scheduled to load up on the Mardraggon jet Saturday morning.
I flip to the text thread and smile at Kat’s question. Even though we’re taking a private jet, I still need to bring my passport, correct?
Chuckling, I can’t help but think it’s utterly adorable that Kat knows nothing about international travel. It’s not that I think she’s unsophisticated in those ways because she comes from a very sophisticated family. It’s just that those things have never been important to her before so she doesn’t know about them. I grew up jetting all over the world and although Kat’s family had the means to do that, all the Blackburn kids were working the farm probably from the time they could walk.
I set the water and peanuts down on the counter to free my hands for a reply. Yes. You need your passport. Still have to go through customs.
The three round dots indicate she’s responding and I wait patiently.
Or rather impatiently.
You never know what you’re going to get with our exchanges. Sometimes our texts can devolve quickly into an argument or we’ll end up teasing each other like the days of old. It lends a thrill to our communications because together we are unpredictable as hell.
Her response is neither though: Thx.
Shrugging, I pocket my phone and reach for my snacks when the doorbell rings.
My eyes drift over to the digital clock on the built-in double oven and I see it’s just after nine p.m. I’ve been expecting that doorbell to ring from the moment I arrived home a few hours ago and I even debated whether I would answer or ignore it when it finally happened.
But I’m not one to push my problems aside, so I’ve already planned out in my mind how this will go down.
Leaving the snack behind, I move through the kitchen that opens into the formal living area, which in turn leads into the foyer. I reach the double front doors and take a breath before grabbing the knob on the left and opening it, knowing damn well who’s on the other side.
It’s Tuesday night and as promised, Clinton Rafferty’s goons are standing on the bottom step under the portico. They didn’t pull their SUV underneath but rather left it sitting back farther in the driveway facing us, the headlights on and the engine running. It’s the same two men who originally visited me a week ago—Kravitz and Bellamy—although I doubt those are their real names. The blond, Kravitz, was at the Spirits and Saddles Gala last week and he nods to me like we’re old friends.
I don’t open the door all the way but just enough that only half my body is visible to them with barely my head and chest sticking out. I hope my message is clear—I don’t have any intention of engaging in a lengthy conversation and they’re not coming inside my home. “I told you not to bother coming here, that it would be a waste of your time.”
Kravitz flashes me a genial smile. “Yes, you did say that, just as I told you I was still coming. I feel I must again impress upon you the urgency by which you should turn over Mr. Rafferty’s winnings. He’s not known for his patience.”
I’d looked up Clinton Rafferty and as expected, I learned that he’s a well-respected businessman. Not a surprise—his standing in the business community makes it very easy to deny accusations he’s sending thugs out to collect illegal poker winnings. The man was born and raised in Louisville, attended the University of Louisville where he earned a degree in business administration, which laid the groundwork for his future endeavors in the corporate world. I easily found online that he’s the founder and CEO of Rafferty Holdings, a conglomerate with interests in a variety of sectors including real estate, hospitality and entertainment. Most of his money is in developing high-profile commercial properties and luxury residential units that have significantly contributed to urban revitalization projects across Louisville, making him a community hero of sorts. No one would ever dare think him capable of extortion and I’m sure he’s confident enough that no one will ever buck under the threat of harm.
His high standing in the community also means he’s got cops in his back pocket, which I’m confident is how he knew I was the one who turned in my father. That has not been made public yet although select friends and extended family know what I did.
I’m not his typical victim, though. “You can tell Mr. Rafferty to go fuck himself.”
That does nothing to rattle either of the men and they both maintain bland smiles. “How about we come inside and discuss this matter?” Bellamy suggests.