Total pages in book: 40
Estimated words: 38381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 38381 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 192(@200wpm)___ 154(@250wpm)___ 128(@300wpm)
“That’d be nice. The government seems to hate small businesses these days. Every time I turn around there’s a new tax to pay,” she jokes. “Take your time. See if you like it.”
“Will do. See you in a bit,” I tell her, leading the way for Iron to follow.
“She seems nice.”
“Best landlord ever. If you take this place, you better not upset her and make me look bad,” I grumble.
“Believe it or not, most women love me,” he brags, making me roll my eyes. As we round the corner of the alley, there’s a man standing by the stairway that leads to the apartment. He’s wearing worn jeans and a faded blue T-shirt. He’s not wearing a club cut and I don’t recognize him. I instantly tense, going on alert. “Don’t worry. This is my buddy, Deuce. He’s interested in the place, too. I texted him on the ride here. He’s going to be my roommate.”
“It’s only one bedroom,” I remind him, already knowing he’s feeding me a line of bull. Neither one of them give a fuck about the apartment upstairs. Taking a breath, I prepare myself. I’ve gone in with tougher odds than this. There’s a knife in the island cabinet that I’d originally forgotten here. I was going to pick it up today. Now, I’ll be using it, but whatever. I always take my throwing knives and position a couple where I’m living. You never know when they will come in handy—especially in my line of work.
I go upstairs, giving them my back. It’s a gamble, but I can’t take the chance of them realizing I’m on to them. The gun at my ankle is secure enough. I’m thankful it’s a tight fit, but even happier that I’m wearing extra-long pants with wide legs today.
As we make it inside, I hear the exact moment that Iron locks the deadbolt. I ignore it, doing my best not to let it show that I’m on to them. I make it to the island and lean my body down, looking at them while carefully opening the utensil drawer and doing my best to hide my actions by hunching my body and appearing to be relaxed.
“As you can see, everything comes with it. There are even forks and spoons in the drawer. There’s a knife block over by the stove,” I point out, so they wouldn’t think I’m trying to find a weapon. Those aren’t the kind of knives that will work for me in this instance. Plus, they’re dull as fuck.
“I still don’t know why you want a one bedroom. I mean, unless you’re going to share a bed,” I reason, still trying to figure out my first move.
“We share beds often. Usually with a woman between us. You going to volunteer?” Iron asks and God, I really want to kill him first. Unfortunately, out of the corner of my eye, I see the man he called Deuce reach behind him and pull out a gun, aiming it at me.
I don’t immediately turn to the other man. I can’t give away my hand that easily. “Ghost mentioned it, but I have standards and I’m thinking you don’t meet them at all. Word around the club is your dick is … How shall I say this? Lacking.”
“Fucking cunt,” Iron says as his brother laughs. I look at Deuce then and pretend to be shocked as my hand tightens around the hilt of my knife.
“What’s going on here? Why are you doing this, Iron? You must know Ghost and E-Z will kill you for this.”
“Not if they don’t know what happened. See, Deuce here will shoot and kill you, then stab me because I tried to save you.”
“That’s awful sweet of you to play the hero.”
“I thought so. Sadly, trying to save you got me hurt and the bad guy got away.”
“I’m the bad guy,” Deuce says, waving his gun.
“Why would you risk any of this?” I ask, steadying my breathing. I can’t afford to be out of sync when I throw my knife. Time is of the essence.
“I can’t risk you ratting me out to my brothers,” he says simply.
“What are you talking about?” I ask, for once thoroughly confused.
I watch as he rolls up the sleeve of his shirt, revealing a tattoo that I hadn’t noticed before. What I see makes my blood run cold. It can’t be. Even as I deny it, I know it’s true. That tattoo was on the arm of the man who killed my brother.
“I knew you’d see this eventually. I hid it with long sleeves and shit, but there’s not much I could do. This is a tattoo of my mother. I couldn’t cover it up.”
“How sweet. The psycho-monster can kill an innocent kid but be sentimental over the bitch who gave birth to nothing but a piece of shit,” I growl, venom bubbling up inside me. The hold I have on the hilt of my knife tightens as I allow my anger to fuel me.