Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93048 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 465(@200wpm)___ 372(@250wpm)___ 310(@300wpm)
“I’m not sure. You tell me.”
“Nothing. It’s all about the money.” She kicks her legs out and stands, moving out from under my touch. I watch her go, not sure why she’s reacting this way. She picks up an old photo of my mother and father on their wedding day, smiles at it, and puts it back down. “Maybe I’ll get a nicer apartment.”
“That’d be good. You kind of live in a shithole.”
“Hard to have a decent place when you’re broke and have no real skills to speak of.”
“Father didn’t let you go to school?”
“He sent me to a private Catholic high school, but he refused to let me go to college. He said he could give me all the education I’d need.”
“Seems like he did a good job.”
Her expression gets distant, and she shakes her head. “Yeah, I don’t know. There’s not exactly a market for former mafia princesses with a talent for crime.”
“And yet here you are, doing okay for yourself.”
She laughs lightly, almost like she’s being too flippant. I want to ask her more about what life has been like without her family, but I know things have been hard. I saw it when she first came to me, lost and a little desperate. A protective piece of me wants to make sure she never gets to that place again.
“I’ll do some research on the Bullethole Boys,” she says, moving to the door. “Should we meet up again?”
“Come to Bloody Strike in a few days.”
“You sure about that? I don’t think your guys like me very much.”
“They definitely don’t, but don’t let it bother you. Half the family’s jealous they missed a good brawl, and the few that were there are strutting around with their bruises like they’re fucking first-prize ribbons.”
“You boys and your war wounds.”
“We’re brainless macho assholes, it’s simply what we are.”
She laughs and goes to the door. She looks back and wants to say something. I’m tempted to tell her to come back here, to get in my lap, to let me put my hands on her hips and my mouth against hers, but it’s too late. She escapes and I watch her go, wondering if I missed an opportunity.
Chapter 15
Valentina
Lucky for us, the Bullethole Boys are about as smart as their name implies.
They’re a bunch of redneck meth heads from north of the city. Ronan puts some guys on it, and I do as much research from my apartment as I can, and together we put together a nice little picture of their group.
There are around twenty of them in all, led by a lovely gentleman named Rotgut Steve. Mr. Rotgut is a skinny redhead with questionable dental practices and a sunken face. Clearly, the man samples the wares. They cook out of ramshackle buildings deep in the woods, and despite everything, we can’t find their location. But that doesn’t matter.
The Bullethole Boys aren’t subtle about their deals. Ronan has them followed for a few weeks, and we quickly notice a pattern. Every time there’s a big deal going down, they ride in force, with good old Rotgut Steve driving a truck with a big covered bed right in the middle of the formation, clearly the guy actually transporting the physical drugs. It’s always at night, and they always end up back at their home bar to get shitfaced and blasted on cheap liquor and hard drugs.
I find myself at Bloody Strike almost every other day for a couple weeks. I sit with Ronan, chat with Niall, and even Seamus comes around a little bit. He’s quiet and intense and not exactly bright, but he’s funny when he wants to be and likes to laugh at my jokes. We place bets on the fighters together, which he likes.
Not all the Irish warm up to me. I start to notice the divides in Ronan’s organization. Little groups tend to cluster together, and I spot them talking to each other quietly, and sometimes I swear they’re watching me when I get up to use the bathroom.
I think about that morning in Ronan’s office a lot. His hand on my leg. My hand on his arm. I don’t think I’ve ever wanted someone to kiss me as badly as I wanted it right in that moment, at least until I started thinking about my old family. It wasn’t his fault—he was just trying to get to know me—but it suddenly made me think about how badly I wish I could be a part of something bigger again and had to get out of there.
Ronan hasn’t touched my leg since. He still calls me love, and he still looks at me for longer than he needs to, but we stick to business most of the time. I get the sense he’s trying not to let the rumors go too wild, and I can’t really blame him. Whatever’s going on in his family, he’s struggling to keep it all together.