Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I tilt my head to the side curiously. “Who are you talking about?” I’m not sure why I’m listening to this piece of shit. He’d say anything to save his worthless hide. But there’s a strange lucidity in his eyes. I bet he hasn’t been this sober in a very long time.
“A guy named Yusuf. He’s seriously connected.”
“The Turks?”
“I went to them after you—” He raises his mangled hand. “I didn’t have the money. I’m sorry I lied to you, Stellan, but I didn’t know what else to do. Yusuf said that if I did this, I could keep whatever cash I found. He said it was a message for you or something. I swear, I planned on giving all the money I stole back to Frankie.”
“Only after you bought some heroin.”
He sobs once. “I’m fucking pathetic. I know I’m messed up. I’m so sorry, Stellan.”
“Where’s Yusuf?” I’ve never heard of this guy before. I have a good knowledge of most of the criminals in Philadelphia, but the Turks don’t have much of a presence around here. They’re mostly up in New York and west in Chicago.
“Staying in Delco. It’s a place called the Ridley Inn. You want to hear more about them? I can tell you more, I swear.”
“Why would I want that?”
His eyes flick to the side. A creaky floorboard is all the warning I get.
A shape slams into me from the side. I have just a fraction of a second to twist out of the way of a knife. It slices across my ribs, cutting a deep wound through my flesh. I grunt in pain and try to get the barrel aimed at my attacker, but he’s fast. He hits my wrist hard with his knee and slams his forehead into my face.
Blood pours from my chest and down my brows. I roar, lashing out wildly, and manage to knock my attacker off balance enough to send him crashing over the coffee table. I awkwardly topple after him, grabbing for the knife.
We struggle, wrestling as I bleed all over the place. Hector’s howling and I have no idea what he’s going to do. I catch a glimpse of my assailant: dark skin, thick black hair, an ugly sneer. I’d bet my family’s good name that this is Yusuf. Probably went out for drinks or smokes and Hector was stalling until he came back.
Something smashes me in the back. I gasp, releasing the knife, and roll sideways. Yusuf stabs at me, slashing downward, but misses. I scramble away, diving to where my gun’s left jammed up against the wall beside a rotting armchair. I wrap my fingers around the handle and come up firing.
Yusuf scrambles out of the way. He slips and rolls forward into the front hall. My shots miss, and I’m about to go after him, when Hector screams in terror.
I turn the gun and pull the trigger. His mouth bursts apart, blood and gore splattering the wall behind him. He slumps down, gasping and making his horrible clicking noise as blood fills his throat. He convulses, hands grabbing at his throat. I get to my feet and run after Yusuf, the pain in my side burning with each step. I make it out front only to watch a white van peel out and drive off, tires kicking up dust.
“Motherfucker,” I growl and storm back into the apartment.
Hector’s still alive. He stares at me, terror in his eyes. He makes a gagging, choking sound that I think is some kind of question.
But he can’t tell me shit now.
I raise the gun, ready to finish him off.
I could give him a quicker death, but he deserves this, the fucking bastard.
I watch him die while I run through my options.
I’m lucky to be alive. Yusuf, or whoever that was, nearly got the drop on me. If Hector had been a little smarter and slightly more patient, that knife would’ve found my back instead of cutting me across the ribs.
This is very bad. The fact that someone just tried to kill me means at least some of Hector’s story is true.
My family’s vulnerable right now. The council is ineffective and I’m still not raised into the boss position. Which means I’m working at half strength at best.
Blood soaks through my shirt and drops down into my shoes.
The cut's at an awkward angle. I doubt I can sew it myself, but a trip to the hospital means questions I don't want to answer.
First, patch myself up. And then I'll have to find that Yusuf fucker and have a nice, polite conversation about proper knife safety.
One step at a time.
KIRA
Gem's still asleep when I get home from my diner shift. I think about waking her up, but she's still got some time. At least one of us should get decent rest.
I sit in the kitchen and stare into the distance, thinking about that conversation with Stellan. I run over the details again and again. The look on his face. The smirks and laughs. I don’t know why I can’t get him out of my head. He’s just some bastard trying to ruin my life.