Total pages in book: 90
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
One meeting won’t kill me. And if I’m honest with myself, some of the enthusiasm I built up during my Jackal phase is still percolating in my system. I liked the attention my work got, and I wouldn’t mind putting it out there, as long as this Chacal guy is fine with my mask requirements.
“I’ll see him for a half hour, no more.” I yank my mask down again. “Now fuck off, please.”
“Sounds good to me.” Angelo walks back toward the steps. “By the way, I don’t know where this whole cat ear thing came from, but it’s pretty cool.”
“They’re jackal ears,” I correct.
“Jackals, whatever. Either way, I like them. I’ll send Chacal’s information over, but he said he’ll be in town tomorrow evening, and you can go meet him at the hotel bar. Be nice to him, even if you end up saying no.”
“I’m always nice.” I hit my chisel hard and a big chip of rock falls off the sculpture.
Chapter 25
Laura
“Idon’t know why I’m doing this,” I mutter to myself as I walk up the front steps of The Gwen, a gorgeous old luxury hotel right in downtown Chicago. I feel totally out of place: the people in here are all beautiful, rich, and well-dressed in business casual button-downs and slacks, while I’m slouching through the front door in dusty jeans and a black tank top. I didn’t even bother getting changed for this. I’m going to be polite to Mr. Chacal, but I’m more than likely going to tell him to fuck off back to New York.
The bar is in a smaller, more intimate room off the main lobby. It’s not too crowded, only a small group sitting at a booth, and a few people posted at the bar. I skim the faces, searching for anyone who might be Chacal, and cursing myself for not getting his phone number before I left so I could call him, when I spot the very last man sitting in the far corner of the room at a small table all by himself.
My heart nearly fucking stops.
The black lacquered mask gleams in the low light. The gold around the ears and the snout glitters from the flickering televisions flanking the mirror behind the bar. Jackal stares at me through the eye slits in his mask, sitting very still and proper, a whiskey untouched in front of him, his hands folded neatly, and his back very straight.
I feel dizzy. I have to blink a few times to make sure I’m not hallucinating, and I’m still not sure. Jackal only sits and stares at me, clearly looking straight into my soul, his back very straight and proper. This is crazy and impossible—but even when I rub my face, he’s still there.
I’m having another break. That’s what’s happening. Except the last time Jackal was somewhere he wasn’t supposed to be, I nearly killed him thinking it was all just a dream.
I drift in his direction. Nobody’s staring at him, but they should be. He’s an enormous man in a black jackal mask—he really fucking stands out.
His chin lifts as I make it to the other side of the table. Before I can say anything, a waitress appears with a drink, something clear and bubbling. “Here you go. He said you’d want this. It’s a gin and tonic.” She smiles, lots of teeth and big gums, and winks before she walks away.
I watch her go then turn back to Jackal.
He’s still sitting there, regarding me.
It’s scary as fuck. My heart’s pounding in my chest and I feel unsteady. I lean against the chair and take a long sip from the drink.
“You’re Mr. Chacal, aren’t you?” I ask.
“It took a lot of work setting that identity up. I thought you might see through it.” He tilts his head to the side. “Chacal is the French word for jackal.”
I groan and look at the ceiling. That’s why the name seemed familiar. It was just Jackal in another shape.
“Sit down,” he says and pushes the chair out with his foot.
“I should leave,” I say, whispering at him. My tone’s harsh and laced with all the hurt I’ve been stewing in. “This is bad, even for you. Marco.”
He doesn’t register the name. “Sit down, little demon. You can make a scene if you like, but I’m a man in a mask. I’ve already drawn enough attention to myself. Do you have any idea how expensive it is to sit here and be so blatantly strange? I’m bribing half the hotel at the moment.”
I hesitate, caught between rage and curiosity. He’s Jackal right now, and I’m not mad at Jackal. I’m mad at Marco. I’m confused by Marco. But Jackal—
I still want Jackal.
It’s a twist in logic.
I’m tangling myself up, trying to justify this.
But stupidly, slowly, I sit down on the edge of the chair, half a second from booking it out of here as fast as my feet can take me.