Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
“The worst patient ever.”
I smile and Brad chuckles. “Use the time wisely, yeah?” I say, mindful that Brad is sitting next to me and doesn’t know the extent of the shit that’s gone down between Danny and Rose. This is an unexpected opportunity for Danny to step back and screw his head back on straight. We’ve got things covered here.
“Yeah,” he agrees, but it’s reluctant, something both Brad and I detect. I look across the car to him, and he nods, acknowledging the joint observation. We both know his thirst for this particular kill is unrelenting. “You going straight to the club?” Danny asks.
“Brad needs to check in with Nolan and tell him the final payment from the Mexicans will be delayed in light of the late shipment.” I flick the aircon on higher, feeling stifled by Miami’s humidity already. “I’ll call Luis when I get to Hiatus to let him know to hold his money for now.”
“Thanks.”
“No problem.”
“And the discount?” Danny asks, prompting me to look across to Brad again as he hits the main road and puts his foot down.
“I don’t know,” Brad says, shrugging. “What’s the going rate for goodwill discounts on a small arsenal these days? One hundred, two hundred, three hundred grand? Oh, I know. Why don’t we just give the Mexican fucker our guns for free?”
I smile and return my attention to Danny on the phone. “I’ll deal with it. I’ll let you know the new plan once the men report back from the boatyard.”
“Sure,” he mutters, his voice sharp.
I hang up, leaving Danny festering about that, and rest back in my seat, watching Miami fly by. “Glad to be back?” I ask Brad.
“My dick is,” he says, and I smile, knowing he’s been deprived in that area while we’ve been in St. Lucia. “But my inner peace, not so much.”
I hum, silently agreeing.
Inner peace.
That fucker is elusive in this life.
I stop on the threshold of the entrance to the club, gazing around. Every light is on, the bar staff restocking, the dancers practicing. Nolan emerges from the office, suited and booted, and the moment he spots Brad and me, a fleeting look of panic flashes across his face before he corrects it and smiles widely.
I tilt my head, curious, as I follow Brad over. “Did you catch that?” I ask Brad’s back, my eyes never straying from Nolan.
Brad looks back on a monster frown. “Catch what?”
My eyes narrow. “Nothing.”
“Boss,” Nolan says. “I wasn’t expecting you.’
“Yeah, and ain’t that obvious,” I say to myself as I pass them, heading straight to the office.
“Let me get you both a drink,” Nolan chimes. A drink? It’s not even noon. “Mason, get the bosses a drink. Hey, James, you want a drink, don’t you?”
“No, I don’t,” I call back, walking on. “It’s the wrong side of noon.” What the fuck was he up to in here?
I push through the door.
“Oh,” a female yelps, rushing to cover her chest with a cushion from the couch.
“Shit,” I curse, swinging back around, just as Nolan lands in front of me. I tilt my head, and he drops his eyes, ashamed. “So when the bosses are away, the kids will play, huh?”
He says nothing, and Brad wanders over, shaking his head. “What have I told you?” he asks, sounding like a reprimanding parent.
“No hooky with the girls,” Nolan says, sighing like an admonished child. “Hardly seems fair when Otto—”
“Never mention Otto’s previous dabbles with strippers,” I warn. Does this mean he’s still getting some with the girls? Not your business. “Understand?”
“Understand,” Nolan mutters, his dark eyes rolling a little.
I shake my head to myself, at the same time trying to reason with myself too. The kid’s barely a man, and here he is surrounded by all this temptation. I should cut him some slack. But still, he was told not to go there, and he went there. What else is he doing? “You need to deal with this,” I say to Brad. “He’s your prodigy.” The girl skirts past me, pulling on a denim jacket, and gives Brad beseeching eyes.
“Mr. Black, please, I need this job.”
Brad waves her off. “Go,” he orders gently, as I turn and step back into the office. Again, I come to a jarring halt when I register what I neglected to register before, when I had a half-naked, panicked employee before me. “The fuck?” I breathe, feeling Brad join me.
“Yes,” he says quietly, gazing around. “The fuck, Nolan?” He storms forward and waves a deranged hand around the office. The office that looks like a fucking slum. Okay, granted, it’s a show office, a decoy, an illusion, but still, smokescreen or not, it’s still a representation of the business.
I shake my head, looking back at Nolan, who looks pretty fucking sheepish, but I don’t get a chance to demand an explanation, and, really, it isn’t my job. Over to Brad, who swipes up a cushion and tosses it back on the couch where the blankets are strewn. Then walks over to the desk, where there’s a toaster, a kettle, a . . . “Is that a fucking smoothie maker?” he barks, poking at the glass jug that’s full of some familiar green slop. I pout. I haven’t had my morning juice.