Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122242 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 611(@200wpm)___ 489(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
"Had you answered any other way, I'd have kicked your ass right back out of here. Her money doesn't matter. She does. Don't forget that shit, man."
"Don't plan on it."
Kincaid claps his hands together, his grin turning predatory. He may be a federal agent, but he's not tame. He's a wild animal, more than willing to kill to defend what belongs to him.
That makes two of us.
"Now that we're on the same page, let's go fuck up his world," Kincaid says.
We swing by my office so I can make copies of several pages from Faith's notebook, and then we head out. By the time we make it to Tarasova's territory, it's almost four in the morning, and Finn still hasn't called us with any information on Faith's father. Ilya's bar is lit up like it's open for business when we roll by, thank God. If Tarasova had done something to hurt him, it would have broken Faith's heart.
"We're all in agreement that he isn't getting his hands on her whether she's a millionaire or not," Kincaid says from the front seat, "so it doesn't really matter if that detail is confirmed right now. We're going to have a friendly chat, threaten to burn his world to the ground if he doesn't back off. Once he sees how much shit you have on him, I'm thinking he's going to realize he doesn't have a choice. If not, it'll at least give us time to decide our next move."
"Octavio, you good with the plan?" Roman asks, creeping down the street in his truck.
"Fine," I mutter, not really caring what they come up with this so long as it gets me close to Tarasova.
"Then let's roll up on this motherfucker," Kincaid says.
Roman hits the control panel to turn on his takedown lights. We want everyone to see us coming. They're less likely to start shooting if we make a scene. He heads toward the house Faith detailed in her notebook.
Tarasova is a paranoid motherfucker. He's also smart. He could live in a mansion like a lot of mob members, but he lives among his people instead, right where he has eyes on them every day…and anyone who wants to get at him has to go through them.
The tidy three-story brownstone is one of the nicest in the area, but it's not flashy enough to draw attention or paint an arrow that screams it belongs to him. It fits in with the older homes. It's just better maintained…cleaner.
A couple pricks sitting on a porch two doors down notice us creeping up the block and hop to their feet. They're young, maybe Faith's age. One is covered in tattoos. The other looks clean cut and preppy. The preppy one reaches for his waistband, but the kid with the tattoos puts a steadying hand on his arm and gives him a quick shake of his head. They eye us warily, like they aren't sure what's going on.
Kincaid chuckles and rolls his windows down.
"Yo, ublyudki!" he yells at them, his voice booming. "Tell your boss Michael Kincaid is here to see him."
"Who?" Preppy yells back.
"Don't act like you don't know my fucking name," Kincaid growls. "You'll hurt my feelings. Just tell Tarasova to get his ass out here before I send SWAT crawling all over his fucking house. Caspice?"
"That's Italian, not Russian," Roman mutters to him.
Kincaid cuts his eyes at him. "Dude, everyone knows caspice means 'Do you understand or should I just fucking shoot you?'. It's universal. And look,"—he throws a hand up, pointing at the motherfuckers on the porch, one of whom now has a cellphone to his ear—"they're doing what I told them to do, so we're good, Sasquatch."
"Man, fuck you and that nickname," Roman mutters, though he can't hide the way his lips twitch with amusement. "I thought January would have settled your ass down by now, but you're still a pain in my ass."
Kincaid flips him off before raising his voice. "Yo, what the fuck is taking so long? Tell him to get his flavor of the day off his jock, and get out here. I got shit to do."
The kid with the cellphone says something too low for us to hear and then looks at his friend and nods. The younger of the two eyes Kincaid with a new respect.
"Guess he knows my fucking name now," Kincaid mutters, satisfaction in his voice.
"Tarasova says you can come to the house."
"Yeah, that's not going to work for me," Kincaid says without missing a beat. "Tell him I said step his ass outside. I'm losing my goddamn patience here."
The kid on the phone says something and then listens for a minute.
Kincaid taps his wrist like he's telling him to hurry the fuck up. The man has no patience. Mierda. I guess he doesn't need patience though. Kincaid knows Tarasova won't refuse to see him. The last thing Tarasova wants is Kincaid taking an interest in his business. Tarasova may be alpha on this block, but everyone knows Kincaid is King from California to the Canadian border.