Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Not if you want to focus on the current objective.”
“I’m focused.”
“Bullshit.”
Was I? Was I focused on getting Ivanov or on Rafael Theriot? I knew my assignment. Rafe was a means to an end. So why couldn’t I stop thinking about him? If I was straight, he couldn’t actually pull me under his spell, right? I wouldn’t let him fuck up my focus. “Just wait. You’ll see what kind of results I can get.”
“That’s all I can do other than pull you off the case.”
My pulse sped up, and I turned so hard I nearly hit the curb. “You wouldn’t.”
“I would if you go too far.”
“Why are we protecting the Theriots?”
“We’re not protecting them. We’re choosing our battles. No matter how much you hate them, you know catching a child trafficker is more important.”
I couldn’t argue with that. “Like I said. Why not both?”
“Our resources are already stretched way too thin. We don’t have the manpower to go after them both. I won’t put my people in danger because you have a vendetta.”
“They’re killers.”
“They are, but you know how this job works. You have to prioritize.”
I ran a hand through my hair. He was right. We had to focus on making the biggest impact possible, and if I were honest, the Theriots presented much less of a threat to the city than Ivanov rebuilding his disgusting enterprise.
We needed to get him and the last of his allies before he rebuilt the operation and more young men and boys were hurt or killed.
Most of the people the Theriots took out were scum like Ivanov and his allies. That didn’t make me hate them any less.
“I’ll focus on the connection with Ivanov. I want to meet the other players in this game and see if I can put anything together. If not, I’ll find another direction.”
Would I really? When I had Rafael right there in the palm of my hand?
Are you really going to fuck him?
I didn’t have to take it that far. I could just keep flirting, keep leading him on.
Rafael isn’t the kind of man who waits to be led on. He’s the kind of man who fucks before he knows your name.
I swallowed hard. There was something about him. He was alluring, enticing. Did I want to fuck him?
No, that was crazy. I wasn’t really into men. I was good at faking it when I needed to.
You’re lying.
If I were, I’d keep it that way. It was better for my sanity.
When I arrived at the casino entrance Rafe had specified, I half expected security to turn me away or take me into custody, but they let me through. I was escorted upstairs into a room that was far more sedately decorated than the main floor. It had a black tile floor and pale, gray walls and was furnished only with a bar cart and a round table made of dark wood surrounded by eight upholstered chairs.
Four other men were already there, but Rafael was nowhere in sight. He said he watched the game. Did he mean on camera? I’d assumed he’d be present. Maybe he liked to wait until everyone was there.
Did it matter, though, for any reason other than me wanting him there? I didn’t want to think too much about why that was so important.
I introduced myself, and the other man reciprocated. None of them gave more than first names, which I doubted were their legal ones.
One of them was probably in his early seventies. He was tall and broad with a round belly pushing over the waist of his pants. He was puffing on a cigar, and I did my best not to cough when he blew the smoke in my direction.
I fucking hated that you could smoke in casinos. I’d gotten used to dealing with it, but I absolutely hated cigar smoke hanging in the air, partly because it reminded me of the games I went to with my dad.
Another man was dressed in a suit and looked like he might’ve come from a financial office or a law firm. His was nondescript and easily forgettable, but sometimes those men were the most dangerous ones.
One of the others had long hair that he’d pulled back. He was wearing a sweater and dress pants. He looked like someone who belonged in a game like this. When he introduced himself, he spoke with a Russian accent, which piqued my interest. But that would be too pointed, wouldn’t it? Ivanov wouldn’t send someone as a spy who was clearly Russian and looked like a criminal. Or would he?
The next man I spoke to was blond and fit. He looked like he belonged on a boat in New England in his navy blue sweater, khakis, and boat shoes. Was he trying to throw everyone off? I didn’t think so. My gut told me he was exactly what he seemed.