Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 413(@200wpm)___ 330(@250wpm)___ 275(@300wpm)
“All this after the shop burned down,” Frank murmurs, but it’s clear where his head’s at. He’s already picking through the box again and doing the math. A guy like him can figure out a ballpark estimate for this many pieces in ten seconds flat and be pretty damn close.
“We’ll survive. Come on, Frank. You’re doing us a favor.”
“And making a good profit in the meantime.” He frowns at me and holds out a hand, but pulls it away before we can shake. “And this is straight from your father?”
“He gave me that box himself.”
I catch his hand and squeeze it. After that, it’s a matter of moving money and writing up receipts.
We’re back on the street a half hour later with the cash my father wants. Alex seems perplexed though as we walk shoulder to shoulder toward Market Street. The car’s parked nearby, but it’s a nice day.
“Why’d you just do that?” he asks softly.
“Dad told me to. You know why.”
“But why him? Why Frank?”
I smile to myself and reach into my pocket. There’s one last watch sitting all alone, naked, outside of a bag. I pull it out and run my thumb over the crystal before tossing it to Alex.
He snatches it from the air, glaring at me. Most sane people don’t toss around ten-thousand-dollar pieces.
“Get that authenticated,” I tell him. “Wait a few days though. At least a week, actually. When you get the results, send them to Frank.”
Alex slows down. People hustle past, the constant flow of life in the city. Cars roll down the street and it smells like exhaust.
“You sold him fakes?”
“I did what my father asked.” I lean against a stoop for a fortune teller’s shop. How these people stay in business, I can’t even imagine. “You take issue with that?”
“Frank’s going to lose his mind. Shit, in a week, he’ll have moved half those watches already.” Alex stares at me, his frown deepening. “But you knew that already.”
“Yeah, I knew it.”
“This is pushing things,” he says and moves closer. “You know what’ll happen when Frank finds out?”
I’m extremely aware. I just don’t care.
“One week,” I tell him and start walking again, hands shoved into my pocket. “Then let it blow up.”
Alex follows after me. He knows how bad this is going to be. And I don’t care anymore.
Seeing Carmie fencing last night woke something up in me. She was pure, primal aggression. She was grace and poise and skill.
She was speed and death and sex.
God, she was gorgeous.
And now I understand. Speed wins wars. If I’m going to take my father down, he has to be dead before he even knows I’m attacking.
Which means one big move. A huge gamble.
This could backfire.
But if it doesn’t?
I’ll just have to practice my footwork and find out.
Chapter 25
Carmie
Idon’t know why I’m disappointed, but a few days pass without any nighttime visits from my masked husband.
It’s great for my sleep. With all this extra daily training I’m doing, I need the rest. My body isn’t used to working this much. I’m sore in places I had no clue could even get sore.
When I text that to the girl group, the replies almost write themselves.
Gia: QUIT BRAGGING.
Sofie: Is this the girl with the gorgeous husband bragging about how sore he makes her??
Frannie: You two have dirty minds.
I wish Lev would make an appearance in my door with that mask on again, but I understand why he hasn’t. He and Alex are in overdrive, and they’re practically working every day. I don’t know the details, but I get the feeling that something big is coming, and Lev is preparing. He’s out the door before I’m awake in the morning and isn’t home until well after I’m getting ready for bed.
Things are cordial between us when we do cross paths. He’s not such an arrogant asshole, and he even makes a few small gestures. Like every morning, he sets up the coffee for me, and he even bought half-decaf so I can drink more of it without worrying. He also does the laundry and makes sure all my fencing kit is set up and ready to go for me each day, even though I don’t ask him to.
My morning sickness is doing better, and I think it’s because I’m exercising again.
Or maybe because my mood’s generally much better than it was before.
When Thursday rolls around, I finally decide to get out of the house. I’ve been cooped up and am getting antsy, and even though I’m still getting my fencing feet under me again, I’m feeling a lot more confident after that night with Lev, enough that I walk into a local gym and sign up for fencing lessons.
There’s a training class happening when I talk to a young guy at the front desk. He lets me poke my head in and watch. It’s a narrow room in the back behind all the weights. The floor is hardwood with strips painted at regular intervals, enough for eight different bouts.