Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75754 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 379(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Probably.
Do I care?
Nope.
I swing at him, managing to sucker punch him in the jaw and catching him off guard for all of three seconds. As soon as he recovers from the hit, he’s on me, tackling me hard to the floor. His fist slams into my ribs just as I bring my knee up between his legs. We both howl in pain followed by a string of cursing.
Somewhere in the fog of our scuffle, I hear voices. I’m too fired up to care who it might be. Sparrow somehow gets his hand around my throat, his grip a crushing vise that has me struggling to suck in air.
“Boys!”
The older man’s voice, sharp and furious, cuts right through our bullshit. Both me and Sparrow freeze, panting and sweating. I still want to kill him, but not with Bryant fucking Morelli standing over us.
Seriously?
Scout let him in?
Why the hell is he even here?
“What’s going on?” Bryant demands.
Sparrow shoves away from me and stands. He doesn’t offer me a hand, not that I expect him to. I rub at my sore neck and shoot daggers at him with my eyes.
“Sit, boys,” Bryant instructs. “Now.”
I drop onto one end of the sofa while Sparrow takes a seat in one of the recliners. Scout darts his eyes back and forth between the two of us, clearly fucking amused based on the way his dark eyes flash.
Bryant, immaculately dressed in a black suit, straightens his black tie and then sits on the arm of the sofa farthest from me. He may be getting up there in years, but right now, he’s every bit the powerful patriarch of this family. I imagine had we known our biological father growing up—his brother—we’d have been raised to respect the suit and the whole boss-man vibe. But we weren’t raised by a Morelli. Mom raised us to be self-confident, to take what we want, and to never take no for an answer.
“What were you two fighting about?” Bryant asks, his eyes darting between us.
“A girl,” Scout tattles. “Every year we grow wiser and older, but some things stay the same.”
For fuck’s sake.
I discreetly flip Scout the bird. He shrugs, cuddling Heathen against his chest. Sparrow won’t look at me, obviously still super pissed. Well, fuck him. At least he got laid.
“Which girl?” Bryant asks, his tone clipped. “It wouldn’t be the Croft girl would it?”
My turn to tattle. “He fucked her. Ruined everything.”
“You’re an asshole,” Sparrow growls. “No wonder she wouldn’t fuck you, Sour Patch Kid. At least I can be sweet once in a fucking while.”
“It’s not about you fucking her,” I bite back, “it’s about you fucking up the job!”
“Enough,” Bryant snarls. “Scout, what happened?”
Scout chuckles, the sound dark and demonic. “Landry.”
Bryant’s nostrils flare. He’s losing patience with us. I don’t blame him. Not many people have gotten a front row seat to one of our fights. It’s three times more obnoxious than the normal fight because not one of us will ever back down and Mom’s no longer around to diffuse the situation.
“What’s the status on the jobs I’ve asked you all to do?” Bryant asks, his voice icy. “Or have you all forgotten Landry Croft is a job?”
“Sparrow got Landry in trouble with her dad,” Scout says, unhelpfully. “They’d been texting before, but she told him not to text her anymore.”
“I’m going to try and smooth shit over when I go there this afternoon,” I explain with a heavy sigh. “It’ll be fine.”
“And you?” Bryant asks Scout. “Your efforts with Ty Constantine?”
“He’s my bestie now,” Scout deadpans.
Bryant’s jaw clenches and he pinches the bridge of his nose. The silence stretches on. Finally, he looks at Sparrow, brows pinched and lips pursed.
“Did you three have anything to do with Alexander Croft getting jumped last week?” Bryant’s stare bores into Sparrow though he’s asking all three of us.
“He hit her,” Sparrow spits out. “That couldn’t go unpunished.”
Bryant rises to his feet and his face turns a grotesque shade of purple. Okay, so he’s pissed. Really pissed. “You’re done.”
Sparrow cracks his knuckles and shakes his head. “It’s a setback. We’re not done.”
“You. Are. Done.” He jabs a finger at each one of us in rapid succession. “All of you. I’m taking you off this job.”
“Why?” I demand, rising anger burning its way up my esophagus. “Aside from today, things have been going well. She trusts us and isn’t interested in Constantine.”
“Going well?” Bryant sneers. “You attacked a very prominent man in New York who just so happens to be in an alliance with our enemy.”
“He didn’t see our faces,” Sparrow offers.
“It doesn’t matter,” Bryant barks back at him. “It won’t be long until he figures out who did this to him. It’ll come back on me. My sons will…” He shakes his head. “This ends now. No more Ford Mann. Starting now, you’re back to biting when I tell you to like the good little dogs you are.”