Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74062 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
“Oh, please,” she mumbles. “I wanted to see you. I’m thinking of coming to Lakeside for Christmas,” she informs me. At least it gives me two months to prepare.
“Okay,” I say slowly, waiting for the kicker. My mother doesn’t call to make small talk. Everything she does has a reason behind it. Her visiting means there has been a development in the company she took over for me. Also, she wants me to give this plan of vengeance up and go home.
“I was thinking perhaps you’d like to look over the books for your father’s business,” she announces, but her voice is filled with nerves. She’s been trying to get me to take over my father’s business since he had a heart attack and left everything to her, but I’ve refused time and again.
She knows I don’t want it. I never have. I’m not made for it, and I’m most definitely not made for suits.
“Please, son,” she pleads like she always does. As bad as I feel letting her down, I can’t bring myself to care about stocks and shares. The job I have now pays well; I don’t even have to work if I don’t want to. My father also made sure both her and I were looked after. After my twin brothers were murdered, he doted on me and Mom. We were his life and when he died, we were left with so much fucking money, we could probably use it as toilet paper and still never run out.
“I’m driving,” I tell her suddenly. “I’ll call you later.” I hang up before she can whine about not having anything to do, before she can ask about me walking into the offices of Brandt and Associates and taking my father’s seat. I can’t deal with the guilt trip she likes to play on my emotions with right now.
I pull up to the enormous gun-metal gates leading to The Fallen mansion. Even when I left L.A., I knew I would be with my brothers forever. We may not be blood, but we’re bound by revenge. It’s stronger than any genetic link could be.
Exiting the car, I turn to find Falcon already making a beeline for the house. When Hawk joins me, he chuckles. “The bastard got a call.”
“And?”
“The little mouse may have another stalker besides us. We were on a call when his phone went mental,” he tells me as we make our way into the house.
We rush through the entrance and into Falcon’s office before I have time to consider what the fuck this means. I know her father is locked up tight, and there is no way he’s getting out without us being informed. That’s what money gets you—loyalty from the law.
“What the fuck is going on?” I demand before Hawk can say anything more.
Falcon’s gaze is glued to the screen as he clicks through what I can only assume are documents of information. I leave the tech shit to him. I, on the other hand, don’t mind getting my hands dirty.
“I think we may have a problem,” he murmurs as he continues reading. “The info I pulled on Lucille has been accessed by someone else. It’s not the feds, and it’s definitely not any of our contacts.”
“Find out who the fuck it is.” The order comes swiftly. We’re the only people who can fuck her life up. Nobody else has that privilege. We’ve earned it. We’ve waited years for it, and now we have her in our sights, I’m not letting her slip through my fucking fingers.
“I’m going to do a deep dive now,” Falcon tells me as he settles in for a night of work. “Bring me something to eat when you get there.”
“I’m not your fucking maid,” I bite out, but laugh when he gives me a look which tells me if he doesn’t do this hack, I’ll have to. “Yeah, okay, don’t whine about it.” Rolling my eyes in frustration, I sigh. We’ve always been lighthearted in our banter with each other. But we also know there are times to be serious. I’m not like this with anyone else. Not even my own family.
“You two should get married,” Hawk mumbles as he shakes his head and walks out of the office, and I follow. Our home is far too big for the three of us, but we have our own space, even while being close.
“I don’t like this,” I tell him. “When new fuckers come on the scene, it sets me on edge.”
“You’re always on fucking edge, Crow,” Hawk informs me coolly as we make our way into the kitchen. In the fridge, I find some meals already made by our chef. We have a few staff on hand over the course of the week, and on weekends they go home to their families with a pay packet to ensure they return the following Monday.