Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132582 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 663(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
“Okay. Finally, some good news. In the meantime, what about a phone?”
He sighs, clearly exasperated. “I’m assuming a phone is a form of communication for you.”
“Yes, that’s exactly it.” I sit forward. “Do you have one?”
“We don’t have phones. We have transmitters. Unfortunately to have one, it must be assigned to you and if it isn’t, you must ask permission to use it, so I can’t let you use mine.”
“Not even if I ask for your permission?”
He picks up that same silver case from before, plucking out another black cigarette thing with a simple shake of his head.
“Wow. Okay, so how do I get in touch with someone? How can I get my own transmitter thing?”
“You really aren’t from around here.” He exhales, sitting back in his chair. “Transmitters in Blackwater are only given to those higher up in ranking and the people who work to have them. I have absolutely no clue who you are other than your name and I don’t know where you’re from, therefore it will be nearly impossible to provide you a transmitter.”
“That’s…really stupid. Where I come from, anyone can have a phone as long as they can pay their bill.”
“Their bill?” he frowns. “Does that involve trading goods and rubies?”
“No.” I pinch the bridge of my nose. This is incredibly frustrating. “Look, I seriously need to get back home. I appreciate you taking me in and helping me out, but the sooner I can get back, the better.”
Just as I air my statement, the front door bursts open and a man barges in, nearly out of breath. He’s tall, wearing a dark-gray tweed suit. A black cap similar to Caz’s is on his head, and the jacket of his suit is open, revealing a gun in a holster, but it’s no ordinary gun. The gun he has is black and massive—bigger than the one Caz had in the forest.
“Caz!” the man hollers, huffing as he enters the office. “We’re gonna need you at The Tavern! Yusef’s at it again, but this time he has the fucking Rippies with him! Killian is still there and he’s pissed ‘bout it. If you don’t get there soon, I have no doubt Killian’ll kill ‘em all.”
Um…what? The man talks so fast it’s hard to understand a word he’s said, and his accent doesn’t help me discern much of it, other than there’s trouble.
“How many Rippies other than Yousef?” Caz asks, much calmer than what seems ordinary for an outburst like this.
“Three, but they’re big bloody fuckers. Ugly sons-a-bitches too.” As if he’s just noticing me, the man steps deeper into the room and grins. “Ello, who’s this?”
Caz stands, walking around the desk. “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”
“She coming with us?” the man asks.
“She damn sure isn’t staying in my house alone.” Caz stops at the door of the office to look at me. “Get up. Follow along.” His eyes then dart to Cerberus. “Cerberus, on guard.”
The wolf dashes past the random man and Caz, heading out through the crack of the front door.
“Where are we going?” I ask, following them out of the office.
I tail them out the front door and a car is parked up front—made of dark gray metal. There are no headlights. Instead, the lights are on the side of the car, the rims sleek, black. It’s so…futuristic—nothing like I’ve ever seen before. And when the other man opens the back door and gestures inside, I realize this Caz person must be more important than I thought.
“Don’t ask questions. Just ride,” Caz says in response to my question.
“Ride what, exactly?” the man asks behind the wheel, grinning, and I roll my eyes.
Caz gives him a glare. “Shut up and drive, Rowan.”
Fourteen
WILLOW
So far, I’ve learned that Rowan has a hookup tonight with a delicate thing from a place called Vanora, he has an obnoxious laugh, he doesn’t take many things seriously (unlike Caz, here), and he’s Caz’s cousin and one of his right-hand men.
How do I know he’s a right-hand man? Because when we pulled up to this tavern he spoke of at the mansion, he parked, pulled out his massive gun, looked at Caz, and said, “If you want, I can go in there and pop all their fucking heads off. It’d take me a minute, probably less.”
Now, Caz is shaking his head. “I’ll handle this, Rowan.”
“Suit yourself.” Rowan shoves his car door open, and Caz does the same.
“You,” Caz says, dipping his head back into the car and pointing at me. “Wait here and don’t fucking move.” He’s gone before I can say a word, slamming the car door and marching toward the black building. A black and silver sign is attached to the building with the words Blackwater Tavern in bold lettering. The windows are square and prison-like with bars over them. I’m not sure if that’s to keep danger out, or to prevent escape for those who go inside.