Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69365 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 347(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
The most he receives is a blink.
“Unfortunately, you are incorrect in yours.”
There’s no stopping my brow from furrowing.
Thaddeus slowly chews the chunk, forcing me to simply stew in the stirred-up discomfort.
He’s fucking with me.
He has to be.
Garcia – Victor Garcia the previously talked about lawyer that’s also my best friend and the older man I have been not so secretly in love with basically since we met – wouldn’t lie to me.
He’d lied for me.
But not to me.
Not on purpose.
Once Thaddeus has swallowed, he carefully places his fork down, retrieves his cloth napkin, and menacingly pats dry the lingering droplets of blood. “Terrorism does not have a statute of limitations, I am afraid.”
“I’m not a terrorist!”
“The information you provided aided in what – by your country’s definition – could easily be labeled as domestic terrorism, Mr. Fiorenzo. That is what we call guilty by association.” His pompous grin is accompanied by him leaning back and crossing one black dress pants leg over the other. “However, I have other options, if that one was to fall short. For instance, I could have you extradited for your little stunt to my country – threatening it’ll be considered an international incident if they do not – where we would happily try you for foreign espionage, a crime in which we – unlike this country – do not have a statute for.” He carelessly tosses the piece of used fabric onto the table. “Or I could make certain law enforcement agencies aware of your known crimes warranting them to open an investigation into you, which would turn you into a significant liability for a certain syndicate who I have heard – through very loose lips, of course – keeps you on a permanent retainer.”
It’s impossible not to tug nervously at my collar.
“I would hate to do any of those of tedious things, Mr. Fiorenzo, when a much easier repayment option – for the both of us – is available.”
“Which is?”
“I need you to retrieve something of high significance for me.”
“Steal.”
“Retrieve.”
“Fancy steal.”
“Recover.”
“Steal from someone else.”
“That would be reclaim.”
“And this would be…?”
“As I have clearly – and repeatedly – stated, you will be retrieving something that is currently lost.”
“Something or someone?”
“Something.”
“Like an object?”
“Precisely.”
“Why?” Inching to the edge of my chair precedes me pushing the subject a bit further. “Why do you need me to find this lost thing?”
“Because it is quite lost, and I have it on good authority you can find anything you have been tasked to, particularly in a very, very timely nature.”
Note to self: figure out exactly who volunteered me for this little cyber safari adventure.
“What do you need me to find?”
“That will be revealed once you formally accept my proposition.”
“Fine.” Folding my hands together on the table occurs next. “Why do you need it found so fucking quickly?”
“So that I can become the next crowned king of Hoalkey.”
Chapter 2
Garcia
I like tequila.
I like it even more when my best – and oldest – friend comes over for dinner and rudely rubs his unconventional – yet seemingly perfect – family in my face.
Fuck, I’m pretty sure the only thing that even pairs well with chiles rellenos and contempt is tequila.
Lager’s too refreshing and bourbon’s too bitter.
Or does it become too bitter because what’s coming out of me?
For the record…smiling as much as they do should be a criminal offense.
Punishment should have something to do with toothbrushes.
“We would love to watch him for the entire weekend,” my mom, Eva Garcia, coos at her honorary grandson, my honorary nephew, Diesel Nolan – D – whose highchair is wedged in the corner space between her and my father. “You three need a weekend away.” Her slender finger playfully pokes the baby’s long nose. “Nursing your new marriage is just as important as nursing your new little paquete de alegría.”
The little guy really is a bundle of joy.
Because of course he is.
Because Miles Nolan – though I’ve called him Ace since we were practically kids – has fucking everything.
His own successful towing and garage company.
A healthy relationship with his younger partners Bunny Abernathy Nolan – an accountant – and Kipp Woods Nolan – his business partner.
And now a brand-new son who has his nose along with his big ass forehead, yet Kipp’s bright blue eyes and black curly hair and Bunny’s beautiful brown skin.
The only thing the man could possibly want for is parental approval that he swears he doesn’t need but clearly has in mine, considering they practically raised him alongside me and my sister, Val, who is currently not helping the situation either with her promise to finally bring over the man she hooked up with at their wedding – that we all helped host – a few months back.
I’m the only one at this table not in a committed relationship.
That shit is as clear as my practically empty tequila glass.