Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79046 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
He sat back, regarding me. “Because of Jim?” He paused. “Or Una?”
I met his gaze. “Both.”
“You can’t let this go.”
“I’m going to pay the debt, and Brian will work it off with me. He’s going to be taught a lesson, and if he doesn’t learn it, I’ll cut him loose.”
“Once he pays the debt.”
“Before, if need be.” I took a sip of coffee. “Twenty-five K isn’t a big deal to me. To him, yes. It’s the principle.”
“And the fact that he is playing with Lopez. He knows better. All the men do.”
I nodded. “We have to visit him. He needs a warning as well. Brian isn’t allowed at his track.”
Niall pulled on his sleeves. “What is his punishment? Brian, I mean, for putting you in this position?”
“Depends on his attitude. Get me the cash plus whatever you think the interest is to Pedro Lopez. Transfer five to Roman. He refuses to take anything more. We’ll pay the debt, and then later you can bring Brian to the warehouse.” I never conducted business like this on-site. I kept the two as separate as possible.
Niall frowned. “Finn—”
I held up my hand, interrupting him. “I know.”
“You need to stop basing your decisions on your feelings for her. No choice here is going to win you any favors.”
“I’m aware.”
“If you—”
I stood, cutting him off. “Enough, Niall.”
He sighed, swiping a hand over his hair. “Fine. But I’m coming with you. So are two guards. Fully armed.”
“Wouldn’t have it any other way.”
The racetrack was busy on a Friday afternoon. The crowds were loud, raucous. Cheering and drinking. Lots of money being spent. I looked around, curious. Horse races had never appealed to me. The dust and smell. The yelling. Even the bells and noises of my own casino didn’t interest me. I preferred the muted sounds of a card game. The strategy behind the plays.
I climbed from the car, Niall flanking me, my guards on high alert. It didn’t take long before a man appeared in front of me, another younger man behind him. “Mr. O’Reilly.”
“I’m looking for Lopez.”
“I am Luis. I’ll take you to him. Juan, make sure Mr. O’Reilly’s car is looked after. Offer his driver coffee.” He paused as Juan spoke with Rory and directed him, walking behind the car as it moved away. “No firearms are allowed. And your guards are not needed. I assume you haven’t come to cause trouble?” He let the question hang in the air.
I indicated for the guards to stay put. Niall was beside me, and I knew he had a weapon or two hidden on his person. I could take care of myself. Thanks to my father, I knew how to fight—and make it hurt. I had been well trained in that from an early age.
I followed Luis to an elevator. I looked around as we waited. It was over the top—the fake distressed wood, the large furniture, and the extensive use of color. The gaudy carpet reminded me of a circus. Despite the somewhat tacky atmosphere, a lot of money had been soaked in here. Bad money, bad taste, crossed my mind.
The elevator door opened, and Luis indicated for me to enter, allowing Niall to follow. Then he stepped in, using a pass to take us up.
The doors opened to an office that overlooked the racetrack. The same over-the-top décor was here as well. Pictures, bright colors, and the scent of incense made my eyes water. The man I assumed was Lopez stood from behind an ornate desk, making no move to come forward. We measured each other from across the room, and I felt Niall bristling with tension beside me.
Lopez was an average-sized man, thin, his dark eyes beady. He was dressed in an expensive suit that needed a good tailoring, the shoulders too wide and the sleeves the wrong length. His tie was a wild pattern, no doubt meant to be fashionable, but it only looked out of place. His thin lips were drawn in a cruel smile, his scraggly mustache unattractive.
“Mr. O’Reilly. What an unexpected pleasure,” he said, his accent thick.
“Yet, you were prepared,” I stated, strolling forward. I towered over him, and I knew I outweighed him by at least sixty or more pounds. “And you know me by sight.”
He smirked. “One must always be ready.”
I cut to the chase. “An employee of mine owes you money.”
“And who might that be?” he asked, playing dumb.
“Brian Murphy.”
“Ah. Mr. Murphy. He has paid some of his debt, but not all.” He made a tutting noise as if in disappointment. “He has asked you to take care of his balance?”
I didn’t want to get into it with him. I didn’t want to be in this office any longer than I had to be. I was going to need a shower when I got back to the hotel to wipe away the stench of the encounter.