Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89032 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 445(@200wpm)___ 356(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
People come and go. A few of them complain that the stall’s occupied. I don’t pay them any mind. I keep waiting, watching through the little gap between the door and the wall, listening carefully to everyone who comes in. Ten minutes, twenty minutes. I start to worry he’s not going to show up, but he was already on his second cup of coffee when I saw him earlier. No way he won’t need to come back here.
Finally, after forty minutes, I spot his shoes.
Clean, but old. Like he’s too cheap to get a new pair but fastidious enough to wipe them down all the time.
I wait until he’s busy taking a piss before I step out of the stall.
Poor Fyodor doesn’t even look up. He’s busy relieving himself. I stand behind him, one foot keeping the door jammed shut on my left.
“If you’re waiting,” he starts, and that’s when I grab the back of his head and slam his face into the wall.
He gurgles something. Poor fucker’s dick’s still out. Nothing like getting your face smashed in when your cock’s still dripping with piss. I punch him hard in the kidney, kick him in the back of his knee, and take him down to the ground, pinning him to the dirty floor. I shove my gun to the back of his head while keeping my other hand on the door.
Can’t have any unfortunate witnesses.
“The fuck?” he groans, blinking rapidly. Blood spills from his nose and puddles around his cheek. His eyes roll toward me in terror. Like a spooked horse. I push the gun harder to the back of his head.
“Do you know who I am?”
“If you want money, my wallet, back of my—”
I kneel harder. He groans as his ribs creak under my weight. “My name is Cormac Whelan, and you are going to do me a favor.”
I let that sink in. If he was scared before, he’s downright horrified now. He’d probably piss himself if he didn’t just go. His hips shimmy and he moans like he’s trying to get away, but I keep him there.
Someone tries to push into the bathroom.
“Busy for cleaning,” I call out and lean down toward my Russian friend. “If you call out, I’ll kill you and whoever’s in that hallway,” I whisper.
“I don’t know what you want,” he says quietly, drooling blood. “Please, Mr. Whelan—”
“You are going to talk to your Pakhan. You are going to convince him to stand down. You are going to make sure he doesn’t ever come after me or my wife ever again.”
“No, you don’t understand, that’s not—”
I smack him in the back of the head with the barrel of my gun. It’s not hard, but it’s enough to remind him who’s in control. “You know who I am. You know what I do. If the threat against my family doesn’t evaporate in the next three days, I will kill you. Do you understand?”
“Please,” he moans. The door rattles again. I keep it closed. “I don’t have any sway over matters like that. I just do the numbers. That’s all I do.”
“You’re more important than you realize then. Speak with your friend Pakhan Ruslan. Make him stand down.”
“You killed his nephew,” he mumbles. “He won’t listen.”
“Try very hard. Try your best. Because if you fail me, I’m going to make sure you suffer before you die. I’ll take pleasure in wrapping my hands around your neck and squeezing until your face turns purple and you swallow your swollen tongue.”
He starts crying. They do that sometimes. I hold him down a moment longer before releasing him.
“I can’t,” he whimpers, flopping over onto his back. “Please, Mr. Whelan—”
I kick him hard in the ribs. “Make it happen.” I push through the bathroom door and ignore the annoyed stares of the men lined up to get inside. They’ll find poor Fyodor on the floor and assume he got mugged.
Ruslan will hear about this. But that’s the plan. I want him to know that I can find any member of his organization anytime I choose, and I can end them. Whenever, wherever, including him. Fyodor is just a convenient demonstration of what happens if they keep pursuing this war.
More blood is coming. Only they don’t realize how much of it will be theirs.
Chapter 22
Bianca
“I’m headed over to that bodega a couple blocks over for lunch. You want anything?”
Finn looks up from his desk and frowns at me. He glances at the clock. “Why don’t you just order in? There’s a good deli that delivers here.”
“I want to take a walk.” I rap a knuckle on the frame of his office door. “Last chance.”
“Hold on.” He jumps to his feet. “How about you order and I pay? My treat. Anything you want.”
I stare at him, frowning. “That’s generous, but like I said. I want to take a walk.”