Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50820 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 254(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
He doesn’t move, his eyes burning with uncontained rage. The kingpin himself, spinning out of control, his emotions far more dangerous to him than me. “Do you really want me as an enemy?” he demands. There’s a threat to his tone, as if he’s the one holding the weapon, not me, though I have no doubt he has at least one weapon stuffed away and within reach.
“Isn’t this how the Mendez family bonds with each other?” I ask. “If not, let’s start a new tradition. Let’s make a Glock our bonding tool, our gateway to conversation. I’ll tell you about me. You tell me about you. I’ll start. I like strawberry pie and stabbing people. And I’ve also decided I like you right where you stand, nice and close like this. I don’t have to prove I’m a good shot this way. I can’t miss.”
Whatever he reads in me in that moment is finally accurate I decide as he steps away like the scared little boy beneath an old man shell that he is, and with a couple feet between us, we face each other. “Your turn,” I say. “Tell me something about you. Like, for instance, why you hid away for years like a scared little bitch?”
He puffs up. “Enough.” It’s a command. He really is cute.
“Okay. Since you aren’t so good at conversation, I’ll fill in the empty space. I’ll go again. I also like Cheetos, sometimes with my pie, as crazy as some find that. Also, I’m trying to stop killing the assholes I’m supposed to arrest. It just keeps happening. And it’s getting a lot of attention. Now, your turn again.”
“You want to know about your mother,” he says, and he’s softened his voice, but it’s roughened up by cigarettes and age and sounds more like a mating call for a pack of Marlboros than an attempt at peace making. “Is that what this is? The Society did it. I know you know who they are. Your mother knew, too. They killed her to keep her quiet.”
“They hired you to kill her.” It’s not a question. “You’re nothing but the Society’s little bitch. I never would have thought you would let yourself become submissive to anyone. Kane isn’t, but then he was always a better man than you.”
This ruffles his feathers, and his shoulders roll back. “I’m not submissive to anyone. And stop fucking calling me a little bitch.”
“You said yes to working for the Society. Pocher’s smart. That one act made you his little bitch and, on some level, you know it.”
“I said, stop calling me a little bitch. It’s disrespectful.”
“Do you prefer submissive? Or a Yes Man? And see, this is good. We’re getting to know each other.”
He studies me several calculating beats. “I know things about your father and your mother. Let’s have that drink, and I’ll tell you everything.”
He’s really trying to build a case for why he needs to be dead. My finger twitches on the trigger, but shooting him is noisy and messy. Stabbing him is cleaner and quieter. Then again, this dress leaves me no place for the gun, and I can’t leave it unattended. The world will cheer if an FBI agent ends the reign of a kingpin, even if he is my father-in-law.
Shooting him wins.
Chapter Nine
Damn it, I can’t shoot Roberto.
Not yet.
That truth comes at me hard and fast and with blistering clarity. Roberto possesses information that could help us end the Society. And ending the Society means we no longer need the cartel to maintain a balance of power. Translation: I have to talk to the bastard. And damn it, damn it, damn it, there are ways he might benefit us better alive than dead. I lower my weapon. “I’m not letting you beyond that door.” I lean on the wall. “But let’s have a talk.”
His lips twist sardonically. “I want that whiskey.”
And I want him trapped like the rat he is and always will be. In other words, he’ll get what I give him. “Once you’re in there, you can’t get out without me making it happen. In other words, by giving me something that convinces me you’re better off alive to me than dead.”
He considers me several beats. “I have more to offer you, my dear daughter-in-law, than you can possibly imagine.”
“If you play games when we get in there, I’ll kill you and wait on Kane to come bury you. He might even say a eulogy that goes something like, enjoy hell, Father.”
He smirks, appearing highly entertained and unfazed, which is good news. I might really get to kill him. “Just to be clear,” he says, “I get whiskey if we go further into the apartment?”
And now he’s irritating me. Either he’s a drunk who needs a fix or he just wants past that door, and thinks it somehow proves something about his power to penetrate Kane’s life in an extra intimate way. “Maybe,” is all I give him.