Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Gentlemen, please, come in.”
No one’s ever called me a gentleman before, and there’s a mocking glint behind his smile that raises the hairs on my neck. I’ve always liked Michael Jr., but the way his father permanently has a superior edge to his tone irks me. “I was hoping your father would be with you.” The lines crinkle around his eyes, narrowing on Callan.
“He doesn’t do collections,” Callan declares, taking a seat with authority, sending an unmistakable message to the man across from him: no one is above a King or commands a room quite like one.
Silence descends for a few tense seconds before Senior clears his throat, flitting his gaze over Callan’s head to his son. “Of course,” he finally says. “Michael will handle your fee, and please tell your father I will be in touch to discuss further business soon.”
Standing, Callan walks around the table to meet him and motions with an outstretched hand. “We look forward to it.”
Slipping his palm into Callan’s, Senior gives it a quick shake and offers a tight smile before nodding to his son and exiting the room.
The door closes with a soft click, and Michael laughs, but it’s jarring and awkward.
“Forgive his departure and abruptness. He’s old fashioned and thought he’d be dealing with your father.” Michael heads to a cabinet, opening a door and retrieving a suitcase from inside. “Do you want to count it?”
Grease moves to the case, taking it from him without a word.
“We trust you.” Callan grins.
“I’ll show you out. Thanks for coming to the house.”
“It was good seeing you.”
The wind howls, rustling and creaking the branches of the giant trees surrounding the Carnell estate, the sun now replaced by the moon casting a blue glow in the sky. Swinging my leg over my bike, I wait for Callan to take the lead. Grease moves his truck into gear behind him, and I bring up the rear. It’s a lot of cash to transfer with only three of us, but it’s more inconspicuous when there’s not a whole fucking club riding out.
We pass through the same two sets of security gates we entered on the way in and put the Carnell estate in our rearview mirrors, taking backroads until we’re far enough away not to be associated with them.
Pulling onto the highway, I keep my eyes glued to Grease’s truck as we eat up the miles. We finally pull off and creep closer to home, up the private tree-lined road bordering the compound.
Pulling into the gates alleviates the tension in my shoulders. Escorting that much money in one ride is always a risk, but the Kings pay generously to keep the red and blue lights well the fuck away from us.
I follow Grease into the garage and park my bike in its usual spot, searching the parked cars for Kitty’s SUV. It wasn’t there when I left, but it is now. Swinging my leg over the matte black and chrome horse, I tug off my helmet and place it on the seat. She’s home.
“I’ll meet you in the bar in twenty,” Callan calls out to Grease, dismounting his bike. Grease jerks his chin and heads inside with the suitcase. The soft thud of music pours through the door when he opens it. “What’s eating you?” Callan asks, frowning over at me.
I jerk in response, surprised by his question. Am I that obvious? How the hell have I gotten away with this shit for so long?
“Nothing. Why?”
“I’ve been your friend for more years than I can remember. I know when somethings bothering you. Is it the punk from last night?”
Fuck no. That scumbag left my thoughts the moment I exited the torture room. “You know me better than that,” I scoff.
“So, what is it?”
“I don’t like Michael’s old man.” It’s not a lie.
Smirking, Callan places his helmet down. “You don’t need to like him, just tolerate him while the cash flows.”
“He’s a prick,” I grunt, walking beside him as we head inside.
“Why do you think my old man sent us?”
“Really? He doesn’t like him either?”
“Powerful men rarely like each other. They have god complexes and want everyone worshipping at their feet, not the other way around.”
Makes sense.
Voices carry through the hallway from the bar, the music getting louder. “Looks like they decided to party tonight as well.”
It’s nothing new. We rarely have a quiet night at the clubhouse. Entering the bar, my legs fill with lead.
“What the fuck?” Callan seethes.
“Is that…?”
“Nicolas Carnell,” he finishes.
CHAPTER 4
ACES
KITTY
Alcohol burns in my veins. The buzz intensifies, diluting rational thought and patching over the ache in my chest as I down another shot. It’s only temporary. As soon as the poison leaves my system, the overwhelming misery will return and the wounds will reopen, but for now, we drink, we forget, we heal. The harsh liquor coats my throat and drips into my empty stomach, sloshing around with the bottle of wine and three beers I drank earlier. “Focus,” I demand myself, the black smudges on the cards blurring.