Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86177 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
“I get that part. But …” The thought of expiring President pro tem Hagerty and its potential consequences crossed my mind as I rubbed the back of my neck.
“No. Buts. Who’s gonna do recon? Should I surf the internet for the whereabouts of the third in the line of succession? Nah.” In the background, keys jingled. “I’ll ask our girl, Howard. We must handle this with discretion.”
Howard worked in Marine Corps Cyberspace Ops. She’d been our guy—or girl—when we needed intel in the past.
“I’ve already had her,” Enzo said, “so she’ll want dinner. You know how women think so highly of themselves after you return for another round in the sack. You know she’s a girly girl out of camo. So, I’ll want my money back for her lobster dinner. Or … she still asks me about y—”
“Not interested.”
“You know, I wondered about that until I opened up my phone and saw TikTok. Okay, Mr. One Woman Man.”
What was with him and Jordyn and Mr. titles? I said, “Not tonight. Tonight won’t work.”
“Actually, it will.” The roar of Enzo’s Charger swallowed up my attempt to retort. “I’m driving to the airport. I’m unarmed, so TSA will be a breeze. Flight leaves in an hour. I just followed him on X. Hagerty will host some diplomats at a dinner. We could wait for him to go golfing or something, but he’s not preemptive. All his golf photos seem after the fact, and I’m not catching a trend.”
“Okay. Don’t worry about weapons. You’ll spot me. When do you get to Los Angeles?”
“Land at LAX at 1800 hours. And copy. I’ll spot you.”
Six p.m. I had six hours. I’d arrive in half that time and use the remainder to scope out the location of the dinner. “Let’s do it.”
I pressed the Off switch on the impenetrable burner phone, did an about-face, and strolled inside. From my position next to a recliner, I watched Jordyn, one hand on her curvy hip. She faced the open refrigerator, a newer stainless-steel model than I’d last seen, back to me. Man, I could watch her all day. I’d need to put some food in us first, take care of my hunger pains, and ensure she didn’t lose a single blessed pound back there.
She stared into the open fridge.
“Do we need to make a grocery run?” At my voice, she practically hit her head on the ceiling. “Jordyn, what’s wrong?”
Slowly, hands wrapped around her tiny waist, she turned around. A finger threaded over a single tear. “Nothing.”
The sight of her, that river running down her left cheekbone, broke me. Voice gruff, I asked, “Don’t give me that. What. Is. Wrong?”
“So much crap”—she gestured to her head—“it’s all in here, Jamie.”
In less than sixty seconds, I sat in the recliner, and Jordyn rested on my lap with her legs spilled over the side of the armchair. Jordyn’s cheek lay against my shoulder. My arms wrapped tightly around her while she had a good cry.
In time, Jordyn’s story surfaced amid tears and sniffles. “My second owner. A gift from the good ol’ senator. Rocket had to offload the rest of the kids. Guess I caught his eye, so he got a freebie.”
Rocket? The soon-to-be-dead lad who wished to repurchase her? I’d forgotten about him with all the bullets flying. Could he prove to be a loose end I needed to deal with, similar to Aleksandr? Though I wanted more on him, such as location, physical markers, and personality style, Jordyn was telling a story that took a K-Bar knife to my guts and ripped them out.
“I helped him with gun deals.”
Oh. Gun deals. Brody’s friend. I’d get the intel straight from my eldest brother.
“He was young, like me. Twenty. I was fifteen.”
If I had a daughter, my assessment would differ. Dude was too old.
“Despite his corrupt mind, his ambitions soared beyond the stars.” A shaky, fearful exhale slipped past her lips. “By sixteen, I was pregnant, no longer getting the education Hagerty allowed. No longer had doctor appointments. Nothing. Just me and Rocket as he made alliances with gangs.”
Gangs that he allowed to touch her?
“When my stomach got so big, an underboss in a prominent gang in LA wanted …”
For the first time, I cut in. The sound of her breaking down in tears pierced like a dagger to the chest. “What did the guy want? You? Your—”
“Our baby.”
“Where’s your baby, Jordyn? What’s the gang member’s name? Tell me everything.”
“I ran away, Jamie. The second Rocket threatened to sell my child, I was out. I slipped out of our apartment while he was on a call about moving a big shipment of AK47s. The biggest shipment of his career at that time. It was a Sunday. I ran along Crenshaw Boulevard until I reached a church. That was the most stunning artwork I’d ever encountered before being sold abroad.”