Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114492 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 572(@200wpm)___ 458(@250wpm)___ 382(@300wpm)
“Even after today’s deposit, Oksana’s got only about half a million total in these two accounts.” He furrows his brow.
“Hmm,” I say.
“Hmm, indeed,” Henn agrees. “Chump change. These must be Oksana’s personal accounts—definitely not The Club’s main accounts.”
“Damn,” Sarah says. “So how do we find the big money?”
Jonas walks away from the group to the other side of the room, apparently mulling things over.
“We just have to wait for them to log into their main bank accounts,” Henn says. “It could be five minutes, five hours, five days—who knows?”
I glance at Kat and something’s made her visibly anxious all of a sudden, though I have no idea what it was.
“But I guarantee they’ll lead us there sooner or later,” Henn continues. “And in the meantime, I’ll take a nice, long gander around their files and data, make copies of everything, see if there’s anything of interest. Oh, and I’ll listen to Max’s voicemails, too. That’s so cool you got Max’s phone, Sarah.” He sips his beer. “Dang, there’s a lot to do.”
I exhale loudly, drawing everyone’s attention, including Kat’s. “Well, it looks like poor Henn’s gonna be working through the night again, going through all this stuff.” I pull out my phone, intending to text Reed about those RCR tickets. “What do you say, Party Girl with a Hyphen—you wanna paint Sin City red with me again?”
“I’d actually like to help Henn, if that’s okay,” Kat says.
I’m blown away. She’d rather stay here and help Henn with his hacking shit than watch the RCR concert from backstage?
“I’m kind of excited about all this. I have a strong motivation to want to bury these guys,” she adds. She looks at Sarah and her facial expression bursts with protectiveness. “Would that be okay with you, Henn? Or would I be in your way?”
My heart is racing and my skin is buzzing. I wouldn’t have predicted Kat turning down backstage tickets at the Garden Arena to help Henn hack into The Club—not in a million years.
“No, that’d be awesome,” Henn says. “But only if you really want to. I mean Josh and Jonas are paying me to do this, so . . .”
“Could you use my help, too?” I ask.
Henn’s face lights up. “Yeah. That’d be great.”
“Okay, then. I’ll order us room service and the three of us will get to work.”
“Make that the four of us,” Sarah says. “I’ll stick around and help, too. I’m pretty motivated to bury these guys, too.”
We all look at Jonas. Obviously, this is his cue to say, “Me, too.” Or better yet, “No, baby, lemme take you out to celebrate how you kicked the bad guys’ asses today.” But Jonas doesn’t say either of those things. Of course not. Because he’s an imbecile—a socially inept imbecile. Instead, my stupid serial-killer-moron of a dumbshit-brother just stands in the corner, silently sipping his beer. Well, I guess I’ll just have to give the fucker a little push.
“Nah,” I say. “You two kids should go out and celebrate.” I look at Jonas pointedly. “Or stay in and celebrate, whatever floats your boat. Either way, definitely celebrate—you both kicked ass today.”
Jonas’ eyes flicker with sudden understanding of what I’m trying to tell him. He looks at Sarah, but he’s already blown it—she’s looking away, gritting her teeth. Oh shit. She looks like she’s ready to join Kat in roasting some testicle s’mores.
I grin at Sarah, trying to charm her into forgiving my stupid brother. “The three of us will move our party down to my suite and let you two crazy kids swing on the chandeliers up here.”
Jonas takes a long, slow sip of his beer, staring at Sarah—and she’s flashing him the most adorable look of defiance I’ve ever seen. Well, actually, she’s flashing him the second most adorable look of defiance I’ve ever seen—the first being the look Kat flashed me last night when she stood in that hallway in her skimpy undies, dripping wet, absolutely crazed with jealousy, banging on the call button for the elevator.
Jonas drains his beer and puts the bottle down—a good start—but then the moron doesn’t cross the room and take Sarah into his arms. Dumbshit. Does he have fucking eyes? Or half a brain? Clearly, that’s all Sarah wants him to do—take her into his arms and give her a kiss. I always say, when it comes to women, especially an angry one, just about any problem can be solved with a fucking awesome kiss.
Jonas crosses his arms over his chest and stares at Sarah.
I lean into Kat. “I feel like I’m watching Wimbledon.”
She nods. “I think it’s Jonas’ serve.”
I snicker.
“What do you say, baby?” Jonas finally says. I nod enthusiastically. Definitely a good start.
But Sarah doesn’t reply. She juts her chin at him, her eyes on fire. She’s such a cutie, I don’t know how he’s resisting her right now.