Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115763 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 579(@200wpm)___ 463(@250wpm)___ 386(@300wpm)
Amelia’s eyes widen, and though she still seems doubtful, she holds up a finger, telling me to wait one moment, and hurries toward Conniver’s table. I watch as she bends down, whispering to a man whose face I can’t see. He says something back to her, and she nods.
As she comes back, it takes every bit of willpower I possess to root myself to the floor and not cut the distance in half. Because her answer doesn’t matter. If he said yes, that’s where I’m headed. And if he said no? I won’t listen and that’s still where I’m headed.
“He said you have one minute,” she informs me, waving for me to follow her. As she leads me to Conniver, she informs me, “To be up front, I don’t think it’s because of any ring. You cost him a lot of money by getting kicked out of the game tonight. He had a personal wager riding on that game, I’m certain. So be careful.”
I appreciate the warning and give her a tight nod, thanking her. Five seconds later, I’m standing in front of the most dangerous man in the city. The one his own people fear. And I’m doing it voluntarily, serving myself on a silver platter like I have a death wish. But if it’ll save Penny, I will gladly make that sacrifice.
His crisp white shirt is open at the neck to show a gold chain that matches the rhinestone-encrusted watch on his wrist. Or hell, maybe those are diamonds too. His hair is perfectly coiffed, and there’s an air of ostentatious largesse surrounding him—thank you, long bus rides in the minor leagues, where I had to read books to fill the fucking time. But his expression seems bland enough, thankfully not openly furious over whatever bet he lost.
“Mr. Conniver, thank you for seeing me.” I’m not sucking his dick, but manners seem appropriate. He gestures to the seat across from him, and I sit down, mindful of the security guard standing just to the side.
“Mr. Mahoney, I understand you would like to discuss a ring. I, however, would like to know what happened on the ice tonight. And if I can expect it to happen again?” He arches a sharp brow, blatantly asking for insider information to shape his gambling on the Hawks’ next game.
“If you’ll give me a bit of leeway, I think you’ll see that the ring and tonight’s game are interwoven.”
Judging by the way his eyes flare in surprise, it’s not the answer he expected. I also don’t think he’s surprised often, because he seems quite intrigued. “Do tell.”
“About two weeks ago, I was downtown when I ran into Dominic Lee’s sister.” Conniver’s lips purse, and though I suspect he already has several new questions, he stays silent, letting me speak. “She’s an amazing custom jewelry designer that works primarily on heritage pieces, and she’d just bought a new ring. Unfortunately, it was stolen right out of my hands by a mugger on the sidewalk.”
“That is unfortunate.” It’s lip service at best, and as he takes a sip of his liquor, his eyes drift away like I’m boring him.
He thinks he’s got it all figured out. Tonight’s fight with Dom was because I let his sister’s ring get stolen, end of story. But that’s not even the CliffsNotes version of what’s happened.
“The ring was a five-karat diamond, surrounded by baguettes, in bezel-set gold. And it shouldn’t have been at the antique store Penny bought it from, according to the two guys who were there, desperately searching for it.” I level him with a hard look. “The two guys who have been messaging her, following her, stalking her, and that showed up at the game tonight looking for her because they think she still has the ring. The ring they want to find before their boss realizes it’s missing.”
Conniver’s face has gone perfectly blank, his eyes cold. It’s eerie, like he simply turned off his emotions. They’re shark’s eyes, a predator ready for the kill possibly. “This ring, do you have a picture of it?”
I move to reach into my pocket for my phone, but the guard instantly steps forward, grabbing my bicep. I glance up at him, slowing my movement and showing him that it’s just my phone, not a weapon. Cleared, I cut my eyes to Conniver, who shrugs. “He’s my defense. I’m sure you understand that.”
I do. I understand defending a goal. But not a man. Especially not a man most people need defending from.
Not commenting on that, I find the picture of the ring on Penny’s hand and turn my phone around to show Conniver the screen. He barely glances at it before his eyes lift to mine. “Where did you say she bought this?” The question is sharp, his tone accusatory.
“Yesteryear Antiques. I don’t think anyone there knew the ring’s history. Or owner.” I lift a brow in question, wanting to confirm that I’m right and the ring is his.