Total pages in book: 95
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89985 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 450(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
I climbed behind the wheel while The Butcher took the seat beside me. Turning over the ignition, I didn’t wait around and headed out of my underground parking lot, taking the directions she gave me to get where we needed to be.
“Where are we going?”
“Some small casino near the bottom of your city. Run by Ryan Connor. He’s our target. Fifty years old, ah, I see, he has an extensive list here of the problems he liked to cause. Trafficking, drugs, guns, he’s also dealt in dirty cops.”
I knew who Ryan Connor was.
Ivan had told me to leave him alone after his little stunt of faking his own death. I knew other territories had a few problems with criminals wanting to take over. I had a few issues with petty assholes, pimps, one or two drug lords, that were all dead. My biggest issue had been with the law. The men I paid to keep me updated had decided to jump ship when they thought Ivan Volkov had died. They’d gone straight to Ryan Connor. I had no choice but to purge the shit out of the men I’d hired, and then deal with Ryan. I kept him alive, and tended to keep an eye on him, but in the last few months I’d been kind of busy.
I glanced over at The Butcher, who merely sat next to me. Once again, she was dressed in a pair of jeans and a blouse, looking like any random woman on the street.
“When did you make your first kill?” I asked.
If she or The Beast took over Pavlov’s original territory, then I was going to have to deal with her or The Beast.
“Why would you like to know?”
“You said you got it, that you know I made my first kill when I was young. I guess you know my story.”
“Yeah, I know your dad used you along with a bunch of other kids as entertainment for men who were willing to pay the right price to see a bunch of kids fight for their lives. Sick fucks. I was eight,” The Butcher said.
Now, this surprised me.
“I had a less than conventional upbringing. I was so used to death and killing that it doesn’t bother me. Kind of like gouging that guy’s eyes out. I do what I must to get the job done.” She shrugged.
“Who did you have to kill at eight years old?”
“A pedophile. My uncle was kind of a bounty hunter, assassin, and a guy that just liked to cause trouble. I’m not going to give you my history, but I did a lot of good. My uncle put me on the street to lure that bastard. The only problem was, he didn’t come in time. He was going to try and touch me, and I don’t like to be touched, so my uncle had given me a knife for my eighth birthday, and then we went hunting for the pedophile, and you can guess how that ended.”
Yeah, I could.
“And you started at a young age.”
“Yep, and don’t let The Beast fool you. There are bodies they are never going to find. My body count is higher than his. He just likes to pretend differently.”
Chapter Nineteen
Niamh
Dinner was cooking in the oven—a lasagna, which happened to be my favorite—and I’d not had it in so long. I’d been tempted to be stubborn and not make any food. Peter had been bringing food home with him, and that was what we’d eaten, apart from the pizza with Ivan.
Ivan had also called to tell me he wouldn’t be making movie night tonight, so I’d been alone. I had watched a movie, but then decided I was going to make dinner. My biggest problem was I didn’t want Peter to get the wrong impression. This wasn’t me making a choice. This was me saying thank you for last night, for him … just holding me. I knew it didn’t mean much to Peter, but it did to me.
With the lasagna finishing up, I decided to set the table for two. I wasn’t going to be an asshole over this. Opening the fridge, I took out the bottle of red wine that was supposed to go with beef, at least I hoped so. Didn’t people always drink red wine with red meat? I didn’t know. Wine and alcohol weren’t drinks I ever consumed. I knew Peter enjoyed wine, whiskey, and beer.
With the wine open and breathing, I opted for some water, which I poured and added a few ice cubes.
This was not a date, even though I was tempted to light some candles. I didn’t know if Peter was going to arrive on time. There were so many questions I didn’t have answers to.
I went back to the sofa, turned on the television, and flicked through the channels trying to find something to watch. All the time aware of the ticking clock as my lasagna got closer to being cooked.