Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 96805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 484(@200wpm)___ 387(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Andrei huffed a soft laugh that was nowhere near his usual carefree sound. “Ian, how am I supposed to know which ones you’ve tried?”
“Guess.” He chuckled and pulled his coat tighter against the wind that suddenly swept down the street. The temperature that had been bearable all day was developing more of a bite now that the sun was setting. Luckily, the buildings blocked the worst of the wind. “I should be there in like two minutes anyway.”
“I’m in the back.”
Ian hung up. As he was slipping his phone into his pocket, he happened to glance up, spotting a black sedan stopping in front of a restaurant on Vine. He could easily see over the top of the car to the man who stepped from the passenger side.
The world around him came to a standstill as Ian’s heart began slamming against his ribs, knocking the air from his lungs. In the first few years after his escape, he’d been afraid of this happening, but he’d known most of Boris Jagger’s habits and had avoided the places he knew the man frequented. The crime boss had too many enemies to wander in and out of just anywhere in the city.
Yet here he was in Over-the-Rhine.
Ian wasn’t close enough to see his face full-on, but that was one big frame he would never forget no matter how hard he tried. And even though the black hair on the man’s head and in his closely trimmed beard contained more gray, Ian recognized him easily. Recognized the way he moved as he shut the car door—controlled and eerily graceful—the way he tilted his head to talk to one of the two bodyguards on either side of him. His profile was to Ian and as he turned Ian’s way, he saw that Jagger was still handsome. In fact, handsome didn’t cover it.
The older man was still, unfortunately, almost preternaturally stunning.
And he was a complete monster.
What Cincinnati’s notorious underworld boss was doing on this street wasn’t a mystery now that Ian had spotted the restaurant he stood in front of. It was known for its fried chicken. Jagger worked out like a fiend to keep his strong, muscular build, but southern fried food had always been his biggest weakness.
Ian had cooked those dishes so often, a person couldn’t pay him to eat them now.
Jagger suddenly looked his direction, and Ian lowered his head and ducked into the arched doorway of a pretzel place. He stayed there, breathing hard, hoping he had on enough outerwear to have disguised himself. Hoping that move to the side had come off naturally.
He waited for what felt like forever, not even pulling out his phone when Andrei’s ringtone came again. When he finally got up the nerve to look around the wall, the sedan was gone and Jagger was no longer in front of the restaurant. But Ian didn’t want to pass it, so he walked back the way he’d come, planning to take the long way around to meet Andrei.
The whole night was ruined. His good mood evaporated like the snowflakes on his skin. It was the first time he’d seen Jagger in person in years and it made him sick. That face had cropped up on the news often during the last year, but it had been nine years since he’d been this close to him.
His stomach burned like he’d swallowed corroding acid, and pain beat a hard tattoo in his temples. His hands shook. The cold and snow that had felt crisp and refreshing now had him shivering. He was too damn upset to stay at the sushi bar, knowing it was that close to the place Jagger was enjoying his chicken, so when he finally reached the front of the restaurant, Ian planned to talk Andrei into going somewhere else. He hated to do it, but there was no doubt in his mind that Andrei would understand.
Kimura was a small restaurant with a red brick front and bright blue curtains framing the large picture window. It was one of the most popular restaurants in OTR, and had been since it opened more than two years ago. But why was no one milling about outside the place, waiting for a table? There was always a line to get in.
Before he could get his answer, a hand slapped over his mouth and a heavy arm wrapped around him from behind. It was like being clubbed across the chest by a tire iron.
He was dragged down 14th Street, the hard soles of his shoes knocking against the broken chunks of the sidewalk. Panic hit hard and fast, tangling up all his thoughts. Construction in the immediate area had created plenty of dark, empty places to take him. Places where he could disappear and no one would ever know.
Ian got his chance to fight back when whoever pulled him tried to tug him behind some parked cars, his arm loosening just enough as he attempted to modify his hold. Ian slammed his head back into his assailant’s chest, winning enough space to wiggle loose. He turned to find the man—one of Jagger’s bodyguards—who was easily the size of Sven, one of Rowe’s bodyguards. Ian, at a slimmer five nine, would have to keep his wits about him.