Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72543 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Then what makes you different from him?”
“Aside from the reason I took the jobs I executed, which was not money,” he holds up his hand and indicates his wedding ring, “she does. And thank fuck I met her before I went off to war, or I might have become just like him. And for the record, the reason I trusted the man I worked for was not just his medals and rank. He was her father, and my father was worse. So I get fucked up families and fucked up fathers, and I’m telling you right now: use Caleb for information you most likely won’t get from him, but that’s it. One of us needs to put a bullet in his head, and I’ll do it without a blink. I won’t wake up guilty over it tomorrow.”
“You misjudge me if you think I’d feel guilty about killing a man who’d easily take cash to kill my woman. But he feels some sort of connection to me that I would not call loyalty or a compliment. It simply exists. I’ve never figured it out, but I’m willing to use it.”
“How?” he asks.
“Information. Which means you can’t be with me.”
“That’s a mistake,” he replies. “Because whatever you think you know about him, I know more. And he’ll know I know more. A killer knows a killer when he looks them in the eye.” He leans in closer and meets my stare. “I’m looking into your eyes. You are not a killer. Don’t kid yourself into thinking otherwise. He doesn’t respect you, not the way you need him to respect you, not unless you come with me.”
“So, you want him to respect you?” I bite out.
“Bringing me gets you respect. You don’t need to be the guy who’ll pull the trigger. You just need to be smart enough to hire the guy who will. That’s your respect.”
That comment punches and then spirals to a pit in my soul where all things my father live and just won’t die. Everything he suggests is a little too like my father for my comfort. I became a little too like my father for my liking, most certainly Alana’s, but she’s been a target all her life because of me.
She deserves freedom from my family.
She deserves to have me fight for her.
“Let’s go see Caleb,” I say, and I don’t reach for the file.
I know far more about Caleb than Savage believes I do.
And I’m not sure Caleb sees anything but my father’s son when he looks at me.
Which makes me a killer, even if not the kind Savage calls familiar.
Chapter forty
Caleb chooses our meeting location, a two-level hole in the wall restaurant and bar, which in New York City, is eighty percent of the establishments, and usually not a testament to the caliber of the company it keeps. In this case, it is. The joint is smokey, and loud upstairs, and smokey and dirty downstairs. To add to the ambience of it all, a few seedy looking characters lurk about, adding to my certainty that this is not a place my father would ever be seen, which I assume to be the point.
With Savage by my side, we weave our way through the rectangular space, sidestepping wooden tables with barstools, both of us in silent agreement that we’re headed downstairs. The stairwell is to the right and made for one, and neither me nor Savage are small people. We share a look and I go first, with him at my back, a little too close if you ask me, but he’s on a mission to be present and account for, and charging toward that goal, even if he’s forced to go second. I reach the worn hardwood below to find a cluster of jean clad men shooting pool around a beat-up table, but there is no sign of Caleb.
My gaze lifts to the bar in the left corner, and to the right of it, there’s a hallway.
Savage, already by my side, says, “He’ll be back there,” he glances over at me. “I would.”
In other words, it’s a kill spot, and Caleb’s a killer and a money man. I’m not immune to the idea that he might have me on his hitlist. Savage as my sidekick is looking smarter by the minute as is the weapon tucked by my side.
“And yes,” Savage replies, as if I’ve asked a question. “I’m armed and dangerous.”
Of that, I have no doubt.
“Let’s get this over with,” I say.
He winks at me like a fool, but somehow, it’s this part of him, the ability to joke in the face of danger, that makes him so damn lethal.
I start walking, and again step in front of Savage as we single file our way toward those back rooms. Once we’re in the small hallway, there’s room for two, and Savage steps to my side yet again. We end up cutting right into a surprisingly large room with low as hell ceilings and I’m reminded of what Savage said earlier.