Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79261 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
He fell forward on the table with his hands placed in front of him. “Your reputation precedes you, Luke. Quite the Jameson, huh?”
I tapped my fingers on the table, one right after the other. He narrowed his eyes at me, cocking his head to the side.
Waiting.
I knew what he was trying to do. I learned at a very early age how to read people.
Who was lying.
Who was pretending.
Who was bluffing.
And who was just full of fucking shit.
A person’s body language always told me their story.
Some of it was instinctual.
Some of it was inbred.
Some of it was learned.
Most of it was utter bullshit.
“Your father’s a legend. You think you can handle that? I’m just saying, that’s quite an accomplishment for someone so young.”
“I’m just sayin’,” I taunted in a condescending tone. “If I wanted your opinion, I’d ask for it.”
“I—”
I didn’t give him a chance to reply, grabbing the folder in front of me. I went over his proposal before shoving the documents in his direction.
Through a clenched jaw, I bit, “What the hell am I supposed to do with these? Wipe my ass with ’em?”
“That’s the best I can do. We’re taking a huge risk transporting that amount of cocaine into the US. It’s going to cost you. I need to protect my men.”
“Huh? Did you feel that?” I sat forward. “I actually almost give a flyin’ fuck about your men or your risks. Do I need to remind you that you work for me? Not the other way around. You don’t set the rules; I do. When I say I need somethin’, and I mean anythin’, includin’ what the price per kilo will be, then you go and fuckin’ fetch, doggie.”
He slammed his fist on the table, rattling the glasses. “I am the best! How dare you?!” Fury was written all over his face.
“That’s nice. Now be a good boy and use your inside voice.” Cocking my head to the side, I added, “I know people who can make your life easier, or they can make it harder. I can slam my fists on tables too. Want to see who can make it rattle more? Now, if you would so kindly tell your goons to lower the guns pointing at me under the table, I would really fuckin’ appreciate it, yeah?”
His eyes narrowed, giving me a smug look before nodding to his men. They retracted their weapons and placed them on the table.
“Gentlemen,” I announced, setting my elbows on the table with my hands in a prayer gesture. “I’m not here to argue. I’m simply explainin’ that things always go my way. Either you make it happen or you can go suck the dick you rode in on. Your choice.”
He instantly stood, his chair scraping across the hardwood floor.
Facial expressions always reveal a lot about a person. Feelings truly were a bitch to hide. Energy of any form is communicated through a person’s gaze. In this line of business, it was all about looking for the signs.
Nothing more.
Nothing less.
The longer you were around someone, the more you learned about them, and you never even had to know their name.
“I’ll have a new proposal drawn up,” he caved, exactly how I knew he would.
“Great,” I ridiculed, loving every second of it. “Good boy. Now go lay down by your bowl.”
He stood taller, inhaling deeply.
Lifting my glass, I nodded my chin toward him in a silent toast before downing the bourbon in one swig. I set my glass down on the table with a thud and then smiled, not paying him any mind before nodding to the door for them to get the fuck out of my office. They understood my silent order and left without so much as another word.
I had properties all over the world. They were some of my biggest investments. Some were only used as safe houses, while others were used strictly for business like the one I was currently in. My real home was in Oak Island, North Carolina, where my family lived. It was the only place that ever felt like home to me. Regardless of the property, they all had sound and bulletproof windows.
I pinched the bridge of my nose, rubbing my forehead from the constant splitting headaches, which never seemed to go away. My doctor said it was from lack of sleep and diagnosed me as an insomniac. He prescribed sleeping pills, but I never took the fucking things.
My demons wouldn’t let me.
It didn’t take long for my office door to open and reveal a man I wasn’t expecting, followed by his guards.
Vicente Del Toro graced me with his presence.
There wasn’t much he didn’t own or operate. He was all-knowing but preferred to stay behind the scenes, orchestrating illegal shit like the puppet master he was. Transporting drugs from country to country with some of the most wanted criminals around the world. The language barriers between us never mattered. As soon as I chucked a stack of bills on the table, everyone suddenly spoke the same language.