Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72863 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 364(@200wpm)___ 291(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
I press call, and he answers almost immediately. “Dynamite.”
I glance at Rolland, and as I talk, I watch his expression.
“When is the hunt?” I ask.
Rolland glances from me to the phone, an eager glint in his eye. Why he needs that information, I don’t know.
“What?” He’s clearly confused by my question.
“Boston, when is the next hunt? You can tell me; I am your wife after all,” I say, still watching Rolland. He glares at me, his eyes bloodshot and clearly sleep-deprived, but angry, so fucking angry.
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Boston says, and I hear him grunt, which probably means he’s moving.
I wait for Rolland to tell me what to do, but he just mouths for me to ask again.
“Surely you know, Boston. When is it?” I press.
My name is called, letting me know the script is ready, and I take my eyes off of Rolland for just a few seconds. During that time, I feel him move. And when I look back at him, he’s walking away.
Taking the phone off the speaker, I put it to my ear.
“Maven.” Boston’s voice is laced with concern.
“Rolland was here,” I tell him. “He just left. He wanted to find out when the next hunt is. Why does he care?”
“Stay there. I’m coming.”
“No, you fucking aren’t. You stay in bed, mister. I can handle myself. I just wasn’t paying attention.” I pay for the painkillers and then head out the door. “I’ll be home soon.” I scan the street before my gaze lands on my bike.
I must make some sort of sound, because Boston asks, “What? What is it?”
“Motherfucker.” I stomp my foot.
“Maven,” he growls.
“He gave me a flat tire.”
“You really need to start taking one of the cars.”
“One of the cars? What do you mean? You only have one,” I say, grumbling under my breath and wanting to kick my bike. Glancing around again, I make sure he isn’t still out here. Asshole. I should gut him for that.
“I have several. Tell me what car you want, and it’s yours.”
I stand in the street, baffled. “What do you mean you have several?” I pause. “Being a detective does not pay that well.”
“No, but when my parents died, they left me with a lot of money,” he answers.
“Oh, I married rich, and we don’t have a prenup. I’m filing for a divorce after I drop your meds off. I’m taking everything you own.”
“Well, at least you were kind enough to drop my meds off first. Do you think I can get a kiss before you leave me?”
“It will cost you,” I say as I stand next to my bike.
“Victor is almost there,” he says. “Cost me what? I’m willing to pay any price.”
I’m laughing when a familiar sedan pulls up.
“Where do you keep all these lavish things?” I question.
“I like to collect cars. Older cars. I have a warehouse full of them. Some property too. I have houses in Croatia, Mexico—”
“Oh my God. You’re taking me to Croatia,” I squeal as I get in the car. “Hey, Victor, thanks for the lift. Even though I know it pains your existence to be here.”
“You understand me,” Victor murmurs as he pulls back onto the road.
“He likes you, and that’s saying a lot considering that man hates everyone,” Boston says.
“Even you?” I ask.
“He tolerates me because I’ve helped him out in the past,” he answers.
“What type of help?” I ask Boston, then address Victor. “What did Boston do to help you that made you like him?”
Boston starts laughing.
“I don’t like him,” Victor grumbles.
“So you’re here to be my hero because you like me more? Okay then. Did you hear that, Boston? I’m his favorite now, not you.”
“I hope she shuts up on the drive home, or I may very well push her out of the car,” Victor says, his hands gripping the wheel tightly.
“But for real, what did you do for him?” I ask Boston.
“I’ll tell you when you get back. Are you okay?”
“I’m fine. He didn’t hurt me. He was very eager to find out about the hunt, though.”
“Yes,” he says, then I tell him I’m five minutes out, and hang up.
“Do you know much about the hunt?” I ask Victor.
“You aren’t even supposed to know about the hunt,” Victor says, shaking his head.
“Well, clearly I do. So, who’s going to do anything about it?”
“Just keep that knowledge between you, Boston, and me,” he warns, then pulls up to the house.
I get inside and go straight to the bedroom, only to find Boston out of bed and mostly dressed. He’s struggling to pull his shirt down.
“Get back in that bed,” I order.
“No, I have to find Rolland.”
“I’m sure other people are already working on that.”
He shakes his head. “No one can track and trace like me.”
I cross my arms over my chest. “Is that so?”