Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86629 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 433(@200wpm)___ 347(@250wpm)___ 289(@300wpm)
“I bribed admissions.”
Her mouth drops open in shock. A shiver runs through her. “No, no, you didn’t do that. Did you seriously do that?”
“You would have gotten in, but I made sure of it.”
She gapes before bursting out in laughter so hard it doubles her over. I watch, swirling my drink, and take a sip. The bourbon’s sharp and smoky, and I start to worry that Angie’s going to laugh so hard she’ll injure the baby. I’m about to calm her when she backs away.
“I was so proud of that acceptance letter. Do you have any idea how many times I’ve told myself, at least I got into NYU? I’m living at home with my stoner mom, but at least I got into NYU. I’m working a crappy data entry job, but at least I got into NYU. Every single time I felt bad about myself since I got that letter, I’ve let it raise me back up, and it’s not even that hard of a school to get into. It made me feel smart, you know? Like I accomplished something. And now I’m finding out that it was you. It was all you.”
“No, angel—“
“Stop. Calling. Me. That.” She rips a book from the shelf and hurls it across the room. She’s not laughing anymore. Her chest rises and falls quickly as I climb to my feet, holding out a calming hand. “I’m not your anything, do you hear me? I’m a captive here. I’m being held at gunpoint. You like that, don’t you?”
“No, Angelina. I don’t.”
“Liar. Fucking liar. It’s all been a game, right? You stalk me, knock me up, force me to marry you, invent some war—“
“The war is real. You saw the blood.”
“I don’t know what I saw. I don’t know what any of this is.” She staggers away from me. “I have to go.”
“Angelina—“
“Leave me alone.” She flings open the door right as Rowan’s about to come back inside.
“Wait, Angelina.”
But Rowan shakes her head at me, taking Angie by the arm. Later, she mouths and guides Angie away, rubbing her back as my wife sobs into her hands.
I stare at the gap they leave behind. The book lying on the floor flipped open to a random page. The words smearing in my vision.
I slam a fist against my desk, feeling the pain, living in it.
God, she’s right.
This is what I do.
Everything I love breaks in the end. I take, I control, I dominate, and for what? For the family?
I really am as sick as she thinks.
I’m about to refill my glass and get drunk enough that I can’t feel anything anymore when my phone rings. It’s Deck and I’m tempted to ignore it.
But I’m a boss at war and he’s my top soldier.
“We got a problem.” Deck doesn’t sound happy, which means it’s probably not the kind of problem that dies.
“What’s going on?”
“Lorcan Gallagher’s at the west salvage yard. He’s there in the open and he wants to talk.”
I grunt in surprise. Lorcan’s the middle brother. I figured I’d hear from Fergus, but his approach was probably the attack the other night.
“I’ll be over in ten. Keep an eye on him.”
“You want me to secure the perimeter?”
“Do what you can without spooking him.”
“We should just shoot him, boss. I could get a sniper in place—“
“I want to hear what he has to say first.”
I hang up. Fucking Gallaghers. I gaze longingly at the hall, wishing I could go after Angie and make her understand—
But Rowan’s right. I have to let my wife settle first before we can talk.
20
CONNOR
The west salvage yard still has bloodstains from the attack. I pause getting out of my armored G-Wagon. “Who was supposed to wash down this parking lot?”
Deck looks over at the stains. “Not sure. Want me to check?”
“No… no, it’s fine. Where’s Lorcan?”
“Waiting further in. Not sure how he got past the fences though.”
“Our security needs to be tightened.” I give him a meaningful look. Deck glowers back. “Let’s get this over with.”
I follow a squad of men through the main gates. The employees of this yard are nowhere to be seen. Deck must’ve cleared them out. I wonder what they think of all that dark muck on the ground, if they understand what it is and what it means.
There are ruined cars everywhere. They’re piled in the dozens, stacked like kindling, some ripped to shreds, some in surprisingly good shape. Engines are tossed like bricks; spare doors tumbling in drifts. Glass crunches underfoot. It’s a maze in here, and we make a few turns before a group of men appear at the end of a long alley, standing among the wrecks of vehicles.
Lorcan Gallagher’s a handsome man, especially compared to his brothers. He’s around my height, stubbled cheeks and chin, wearing a decent suit and that ever-present smile. He reminds me of a banker or a salesman. Except all he’s got to sell is death. Behind him, several Gallagher thugs lurk, looking meaner than snakes.