Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 81279 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 406(@200wpm)___ 325(@250wpm)___ 271(@300wpm)
“Let’s cut to the chase,” Otto says into the phone and carefully scatters white powder from a Ziploc bag he pulled out of his pocket. “I’ve got your client, and I don’t appreciate being hunted.”
The other two men both look up, listening to the unintelligible whisper coming from the phone. I can’t hear the words either, but I would have recognized Saint’s speech pattern anywhere. I choke up and my eyes sting, suddenly on the verge of tears when I think back to the way he held me as we made our way down the stairs, to finish Brown. Maybe it’s selfish of me that I want him to risk it all for me, but I don’t want to die yet. I want to see where life can take us, if I can hone my skills and be his lookout, maybe even partner.
I want to see him come to my aid.
Otto snorts and uses his driving license to form two lines out of the powder. “I get it. I’m a bit of a businessman myself,” he says, waving his hand at Beardy, who snickers, shaking his head. “But I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”
I close my eyes and focus on Saint’s voice, but I can barely work out anything more than “alive” and “money”.
“Yeah, yeah,” Otto says. “I’ll text you the address, and a hair won’t fall off his head until the money is in your hands.”
Soon after, the connection ends. I look up in time to see Otto snort a long line of coke… or whatever that is.
Beardy raises his brows. “You’re really gonna—”
“Of course not!” Otto sucks in air and sneezes. “Fucker’s as good as dead when he comes here. And you…” He faces me and pulls out his gun.
I stiffen, because maybe I’ve overestimated Otto. Maybe he’s not reasonable enough to keep me alive as insurance for the time being. After all, he’s getting drugged up to his eyeballs instead of staying sharp.
Or maybe he just thinks Saint is the kind of guy he is—a sociopath with no morals, who cares only about cash. That’s why he murdered my mother for nothing. That’s why he might kill me before Saint even arrives.
My breath quickens when he presses the barrel of the gun to my forehead. “You will learn what a bad idea it is for dumbass maggots like you to hire killers. You really thought you could get me? I’m Otto fucking Grass! I deal with people like you before breakfast.”
“You don’t have breakfasts,” Beardy says, and Otto steps back with a roar. At least his gun no longer digs in my flesh so I can catch my breath.
“Why are you like this! It’s a form of fucking speech! You ever heard of them?” Otto asks and approaches the coffee table to snort in the second line.
“No one needs that many words when you have guns,” Beardy replies, not at all offended.
Mothman shakes his head, but his eyes remain on the small screen in front of him. “I should say that to the girl I’m talking to. She just goes on and on and on…”
“So, is he coming?” Beardy asks.
“Oh yeah. And he’s getting a bullet in the head, not a suitcase filled with money. Even your hitman is a halfwit,” Otto tells me, knocking on the side of his skull.
I swallow, staring at him. “I mean… I just got him off the dark web,” I say because the less those fuckers know about Saint the better. Let them think he’s some random dude who finds killing easy, so they’re not prepared for the storm coming their way.
I’m scared, but as I imagine Saint stepping in here and sending each of those fuckers into the embrace of death within the first three seconds, I have to keep my joy hidden, even though it’s tugging at the corners of my mouth.
But I need to be ready to help him in any way possible, even if just by removing myself from the line of fire. I tug on the cuffs, but my hands, while slim, won’t go through, unless⸺ Nausea rises in my throat when I think back to Saint’s lesson about dislocating one’s thumb, but I can always just tip over my chair.
All I have to do is stay sharp, ready, and focused.
Otto laughs, and the other goons chuckle as well. “Heard that, boys? This dumbass thinks he’s hard. Got a hitman on the ‘dark web’. This is just so precious. I guess if you’re just like us, I might as well share.”
I frown, not sure if he means Tamara’s goulash, but then I realize he’s approaching me with the little Ziplock bag filled with drugs.
“No… no need,” I utter, trying to stay cool, but my voice comes out as a squeak, prompting all three men to laugh again. Because of course it’s the funniest fucking thing on the planet.