Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90211 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 451(@200wpm)___ 361(@250wpm)___ 301(@300wpm)
There’s nothing easy about Regan.
And in some ways, maybe that’s what I like about her.
She demands things of me. And not killing, thieving, fighting. She demands me, my attention, my time.
I want to give her all that and more.
Only right now Finn needs me, and I have to come through.
I finish my beer and order another. I keep waiting another twenty minutes before he shows, coming through the crowd with an uncomfortable, squirrelly look on his face. I didn’t think he’d come, but then again, he’s not the type to disobey an order.
He doesn’t even look twice at me. Dark hair, handsome kid, but soft-looking. It always shocks me every time I see the guy, how doughy he seems, how supremely weak. This is the man Regan was going to marry? He’s the guy her father thought was going to rise in the ranks?
Fucking absurd.
Kieren walks past me. He doesn’t notice as he goes back toward the bathrooms. I take a moment, finish off the second beer, and push back from the bar. I amble after him, hands shoved in my pockets. No eyes track me. I’m another local getting a drink.
Good thing too, because I’m deep in enemy territory right now.
Kieren’s waiting near the men’s room. There’s an ancient cigarette vending machine. It’s a dying breed, a sign of the old times. He’s leaning against it, glaring at his phone, probably re-reading the text I sent an hour ago. I pause for a moment, make sure nobody’s around, before I approach.
“You’re running late. You always keep your bosses waiting?”
Kieren looks up sharply. His jaw tightens and he opens his mouth to snap something nasty. I see the anger flash across his face. I know that anger all too well, I’ve seen it a thousand times in a hundred other assholes just like him. But when he gazes into my eyes, the protest dies, replaced by confusion.
“Do I know you?”
“Not really.”
“Then what do you need?”
“You’re here to talk to me, Kieren.”
His eyebrows knit tighter. “That can’t be right. Are you with the Baranovs?”
“Not exactly.” I get closer, tightening the distance between us. “You sure you don’t recognize me?”
“I don’t think…” He trails off, twitching backwards. His back bumps into the vending machine and it rattles. “Wait, hold on a second. I got a text from… but you’re…”
“Go ahead, take your time. Let the gears turn.”
His face pales. “You’re that guy Regan married.”
“There it is.”
Kieren looks at his phone in horror. Now he’s starting to get it. Earlier, a text showed up from a number he knows is linked with the Baranov Bratva, instructing him to come to this bar and to stand by this exact vending machine. He probably figured it was some kind of shady family business and didn’t bother running it past anyone else, considering it came directly from a phone he recognized.
He jerks sideways, trying to put space between us, and bolts toward the door.
I slam my shoulder into his chest, ramming him into the wall. Kieren lets out a soft grunt of pain and reaches for something in his jeans, but he’s way too slow. That should’ve been his first move. Instead, I get my gun shoved against his belly, jamming the barrel in tight so he keeps it.
“Don’t fight. Don’t scream. I’ll gut shoot you, and you won’t die, not for a while anyway. I’ll still have plenty of time to talk to you.”
He’s breathing hard, his face shiny with sweat. “What the fuck do you want?”
“A conversation, that’s all. Come on, Kieren, we can be civil.”
Now the panic sets in. He’s probably trying to weigh how far I’ll take this. He’s maybe thinking I won’t pull the trigger, but he’s wrong there. I’ll shoot him, the noise be damned. This bar might be in Baranov territory—a calculated risk to make sure he really showed up and wasn’t on guard—but it’s not technically a Bratva establishment. I can’t guarantee there aren’t any soldiers here, but I doubt it.
He’s doing that same math right now, and he’s not liking the outcome.
When he says nothing, I jab him with the gun and tug him by the collar. “This way.” We walk together, him stumbling ahead, my gun against the small of his back near his spine. “You ever see someone get their vertebrae blown off? Real nasty shit. This low, your arms might still work, but your dick will be cold and dead. How will Vera feel about that?”
Again, he says nothing, which is the right play. I feel grudging respect as I shove out a side door and kick him into a dirty alley. Another reason I chose this spot: easy access to a tight, dark, relatively private space with a connection to an outside street.
Kieren leans against the wall, breathing hard. I keep my gun trained on him. His hands stay up.