Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 120240 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 601(@200wpm)___ 481(@250wpm)___ 401(@300wpm)
But here we go again. The goddamn monthly tribute, and I’m not even one step closer to discovering who demands it.
I get to my car, my hand on the door handle, then pause. A prickle of awareness skates across my neck.
Something’s out of place. Something’s wrong…
Is this where I parked?
I frown, pulling out my phone. “Declan,” I say when he answers. “Check the security footage, will ye? I know where I parked my car, and it looks like it’s been moved.”
“It’s been moved?” he says. “Jaysus.”
I gesture to a valet who’s nearby.
“Here, I want you to take my car, pull it up to the front,” I tell him, handing over the keys. “I want to go through security footage first.”
“Yes, sir.”
I go back to the phone and head to the entrance of the club. “What do you see on the footage?”
“Nothing,” Declan says. “It’s too dark. What the hell? It looks as if—”
BOOM!
I fall to the ground on instinct as glass splinters. The car goes up in flames.
“Christ!” I gasp, staring at the inferno.
Someone bombed my goddamn car.
The door to the club flies open, and Declan runs toward me, his face pale in the orange glow of the flames.
“The valet—” I start, but I can already see him. Or what’s left of him. He was at the other end of the lot, standing by my car when it went up. He’s fucking toast now—dead. Burned to a crisp.
The acrid smell of burning fuel and flesh hits me, and my stomach turns. That could’ve been me. I was seconds away from getting in that fuckin’ car.
I look at my watch. Ten goddamn minutes. I have ten goddamn minutes to pay this tribute.
Of course. This is what they do. Every single fuckin’ month, something comes up. Something stops me from paying it.
This was no accident.
“Goddamn it!” I slam my fist on the hood of another car. “You have to take care of this. I parked it myself tonight. Who was the valet?” The one whose family we need to visit and pay our respects to now that he’s gone.
“I don’t know his name,” Declan says, shaking his head, his voice trembling as security pours out of the club. “He just got here, and I—”
His eyes are glassy as he scrubs a hand across his face. That was one of ours. One of my men, and it should’ve been me. And he died because I parked there.
Because someone wants me dead bad enough to kill innocents. If I’d been the one to go up in flames… there’d be no wedding, and that tribute would sit unpaid.
My cousins pour out of the club, taking in the smoking car, with curses and promises of revenge.
“I sent him over,” Donovan says, walking up with his hands in his pockets. His face is stricken, pale eyes wide. “Jaysus, Cavin, I sent him to get your car. I didn’t realize you had parked it yourself. I told him you'd be wanting to leave soon. Fuck!”
He runs his hands through his hair. “That should've been—I almost went myself, but I thought—”
“It's not your fault,” I tell him, even as my mind races.
“Aye, well, when we find out, they'll wish they didn't,” Declan says darkly.
Donovan laughs, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. “Just saying—whoever it is, they know our movements. Know our people. Has to be someone close, doesn't it?”
I look at the time.
“Jesus Christ.” My mind races. “I have to go.”
“Cavin,” Declan snaps, “where the fuck are you going now?”
“I can’t tell you,” I tell him. “Not now. You have to trust me.”
“Don’t I trust ye?” he says, shaking his head. “Fuck. Go now. Go.”
“I’ve got to go. I need to take one of the cars—” We’ve got backups used for escorts and the like.
“Goddamn it, you’re gonna tell me what this is,” he growls under his breath, even as he tosses me a fob on a ring.
“I promise. As soon as I know there won’t be blowback, I’ll tell you.”
I get in the car and drive like the devil. Five hundred thousand euros. Every fucking month. The numbers burn through my mind. And I don't even know who the bastard is bleeding us dry.
I pay the goddamn tribute at 11:58 p.m. I slam the fucking envelope in the fucking slot, with two minutes to spare, and scream into the night, “MILLIONS!” like a goddamn werewolf fighting a full moon.
My family's safe for another month.
My bollocks are in a sling for another month.
I’m draining us dry, bit by bit. Making moves I never wanted to make. Getting into bed with people I shouldn't have. All to keep the cash flowing to some faceless fuck who's got us by the throat.
Christ, but I'd have loved to take it out on Erin's disobedient, willful little arse.
When it’s done, I call Declan. “Okay,” I say. “I’m sorted.”