Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Did it look like he’d been there long?”
“Months, maybe years,” Raff said. “It was a sweet spot, honestly. I took pictures,” he admitted with a smirk.
“How’d you get him to come with you if he was hiding out?”
“Saint.”
“Alright. Your brother is on his way,” Slash said as he made his way back into the room.
“I still don’t understand why you guys came to find me,” Syn said.
“Because it was the only way your brother would even consider joining the club,” Slash told him.
“Why didn’t he come find me then?”
“He’s on parole,” I told him. “And while he didn’t get stuck with a bad officer, he still has to be here to check in.”
To that, Syn gave me a tight nod. Like it took a load off of him to know that, to be sure he hadn’t been forgotten by his big brother.
He was a grown man now, but there was something vulnerable in his eye as he stood there, waiting for a long-awaited reunion with a man who offered up years of his life, so Syn didn’t have to suffer.
Clearly, though, Saint’s sacrifice hadn’t completely saved Syn. Because that was a shell of a person standing there with his backpack still on, swirling a mostly empty glass of whiskey.
As if hearing my thoughts, Syn drained his glass and set it down just seconds before the front door flew open hard enough to knock against the wall.
Then there was Saint Courtland.
Tall, handsome, imposing, looking a mix of panicked and relieved to see his little brother standing there after weeks of not being able to track him down. It didn’t take a genius to conclude that he’d been worried sick that Syn had been killed for the previous work he’d done in Saint’s organization.
“Syn,” Saint said, the name like a sigh and a prayer at the same time.
He beelined for his brother, pulling him into a hug that seemed to lift the weight off both their shoulders in an instant.
Saint’s head lifted over his brother’s shoulder, glancing between Slash and Raff and mouthing Thank you.
“Where the fuck have you been?” he asked when they finally pulled away.
“That’s a long story, and it’s been a long-ass couple of days,” Syn said.
“Know a thing or two about long days.” Saint clapped a hand on his brother’s back. “How about we hit the town? Food, a few drinks, maybe some pool?” He paused to look at Slash. “If that’s alright.”
It couldn’t have been easy for a man used to being in charge to seek approval from someone else. Then again, prison meant a lot of rule-following and ego stripping. Maybe Saint wasn’t the man he’d been the last time his brother saw him either.
“I’m gonna pass, but I’m sure these two would be game. Colter too.”
“Me what?” Colter asked, coming down while still pulling on a shirt.
I didn’t miss the pretty brunette rushing off behind the Courtland brothers, barely pausing to slip into shoes before she was out the door.
“Food, drinks, pool,” Raff said. “If that pretty thing didn’t steal your life force.”
“Just a cup of coffee and a shower away from being good to go.” He nodded toward Syn. “That the brother?”
“Yep,” Raff said.
“He prospecting too?”
“Prospecting?” Syn asked, brows pinched.
“Long story too,” Saint said. “Got plenty of time to get into that. Is that what you’re wearing?” he asked with a glance at his brother’s outfit.
Saint, you had to give it to him, always looked put together. I figured you could make an argument that it was because he was always dressed all in black. So even a tee and jeans looked elevated.
“No?” Syn asked, glancing down at himself.
“Got a change of clothes in the… backpack?” Saint asked, frowning at the worn seams and taped strap.
“No.”
“I can loan you something,” Raff, who was on the thinner side like Syn, said.
Colter, coffee in hand, excused himself for his shower. And Slash clamped a hand on Saint’s shoulder on his way to the door.
Then it was just the two of us.
“You gonna suggest we do some kumbayas or some shit?” he asked.
“Get a feeling you’re both gonna need it once you share what’s been going on the last few years. And in that case, you know where to find me. But for now, I’m gonna go grab some cash for the pub and pool hall.”
Sure, both the Murphys and the Novikoffs accepted cards. But there was an understanding between all of us that cash was the preferred method of payment, given how we all needed to find ways to hide and wash our money.
“Figured a club like this would pry.”
“We all got secrets, man,” I said, shrugging.
“Even you?”
“Especially me,” I said as I walked toward the elevator.
I imagined if everyone knew the real reason I did so much yoga and meditation, they might not find it as woo-woo and wishy-washy as they did.