Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
“It was my mother’s.” He looks at the photo again, this time his gaze longer and considerably warmer. “You said it was stolen?”
“Yes, we talked to several pawnshops, and a few fences, trying to find it. The mugger was a young guy with freckles, wearing a red hoodie. Johnny K said he might know the guy.” I don’t bother explaining who Johnny K is, figuring he probably already knows or can find out. “But my concern is the guys following Penny. They’ve tried to get her home address, and they were obviously looking for her at the game tonight. That’s why I had to get her out of there. Which made Dominic realize that something’s going on between us before we were ready to share that with him.”
“Hence the fight,” Conniver summarizes. He sighs, his finger tracing the rim of his glass. “These guys, what do they look like?”
I cut my eyes to the security guy standing beside the table. “Like him. Big, tough. One of them is named Tommy, I think.”
“Thomas and Mark,” he says instantly.
The names don’t really help me, though they do confirm that I’ve been right this whole time. The ring? Conniver’s. The muscle? Conniver’s. Penny? In danger.
“I just want them to leave Penny alone. I’m really sorry about your ring, and if Johnny K finds out anything, I’ll let you know. But Penny has nothing to do with this. She was just in the wrong place at the wrong time, and bought a ring she thought was beautiful that she was excited to redesign.”
“She was going to redesign the ring?” he snaps.
That’s not the important part, not at all, but I have to play nice to some small degree. “You can look her up—PLDesigns. She repurposes old jewelry, like heritage stuff. Turns them into modern pieces of wearable art. But what about the guys? You’ll call them off?”
I frame it like a question, a request, tailored to a man like Conniver. But it’s most definitely a command, and he knows it. He stares at me for a long moment, his face expressionless, and I’m almost certain I’ve signed my own death certificate, but then he slowly turns to the security guard. “Tell Thomas and Mark that I’d like to see them first thing in the morning at my office.” The guard nods, silently acknowledging the order. Conniver turns back to me, his tight smile still making him look like a shark. “It’s handled. Miss Lee won’t come to any harm.”
That easy? I mean, sitting across from this guy isn’t easy despite the fancy restaurant. “Just like that?”
The corners of his lips lift into what might be considered a smile but feels more like a threat. “Is there anything else, Mr. Mahoney?”
“No. I guess not. I just want Penny to be safe.”
“And she will be,” he says with a wave of his hand as though he’s a magician that can simply make it so. And I guess, despite the lack of a top hat and wand, he is.
“Um, well . . . thank you.”
I go to stand but freeze halfway when he adds, “I trust there won’t be any further issues on the ice between you and Mr. Lee during the playoffs?”
There will definitely be issues between me and Dominic. Lots of them. But on the ice, we’ll keep our shit together. We’re solid players, and we want that Cup, for ourselves and for the Hawks. And for the city.
I nod. “No problems.”
“Good.” He manages to make the single word sound like if you know what’s good for you, you won’t fuck up my gambling, or I’ll be forced to take my losses out on you.
Just like that, I walk away from the table, feeling the security guard’s gaze follow me and all too aware that I just sat with the closest thing to the Grim Reaper that I hope to ever meet. It was surprisingly uneventful, at least on the surface, but I would hate to be Tommy and Mark tomorrow morning.
Up front, Amelia smiles as she holds out a napkin. “Can you sign this for me?”
“Sure.” I take the marker she holds out and scribble my name. When I glance back up, she’s holding her phone up, already leaning into me to pose for a picture. I fake a smile, and she clicks the button on the screen.
“What’s your number? I’ll send it to you,” she purrs, her gaze slowly dripping over my face, down to my chest, and lower. I know I look like hell, bruised and swollen with dried blood on my shirt, but she makes it seem like I’m dressed to the nines and looking my best.
“Thanks, but I’m good,” I tell her gently but firmly.
I’m not good. I haven’t been good in a long time, maybe ever. But I’m not looking for a quick fuck with a hostess. I want Penny, only Penny.