Total pages in book: 217
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207224 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1036(@200wpm)___ 829(@250wpm)___ 691(@300wpm)
He smiles. “Plenty more where that came from, mate.”
The door knocks behind me, and I look back when Danny calls an okay to enter. Goldie walks in first, followed by Otto and Ringo. All have a quick scope of the room before settling on the couch in a line. “All right?” Ringo grunts, looking down his colossal nose at us.
“Fine,” Danny says.
“Fine,” I mutter moodily, firing off a quick email to the realtor telling him I can’t make our meeting today.
“In other news,” Danny says, his eyes on my silently uneasy form. “Sandy’s been in touch.”
“And what gifts has he offered to bring to the party?” Goldie asks. “Wait, don’t tell me—”
“No, no,” Ringo chirps. “I know the answer to this. Is it a cuddly toy?”
“And a Russian,” Danny confirms, eyeing me, waiting for me to react. How’s he being so fucking calm?
“A Russian?” Otto asks, looking between me and Danny, as does Goldie. I don’t need to answer.
“Sandy’s offered Volodya?” Goldie balks. “No. Kill Sandy. Kill the fucker or I will.” She stands, practically cracking her knuckles.
Danny’s hands rise in a pacifying way I’m not feeling, and Ringo reaches for Goldie’s arm, gently easing her back to the couch. “We’re taking a moment to decide how best to approach this.”
I know how. A machine gun and a few belts of bullets. Fuck, why did I think the apartment was a good idea?
“A meeting without me?” The door pushes open, and Brad stands on the threshold in his boxers looking sulky, his hair all over the place, his shoulder bandaged. Danny and I are both up from our chairs quickly, helping him across the office.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” I mutter.
“I’m bored.”
“You’re shot.” I point out like a chump.
“Get off,” he grumbles, rolling his shoulders and hissing in pain as a result. “I’m fine.”
Danny looks across at me, jerks his head in signal, and we both link our arms behind him, making a little seat for him to perch on. “I said I’m fine!” he snaps.
“Sit the fuck down or I’ll drag you back to your room,” Danny retorts as everyone gets up, making space, Goldie perching on one arm, Ringo on the other, and Otto setting his laptop on Danny’s desk and taking one of the chairs.
“I’m not a fucking invalid,” Brad grumbles, relenting and lowering to the makeshift chair.
“You are an invalid, you dick,” Goldie says, plumping a pillow at her end as we carry him over. We lay him down, getting him comfy, and he gives each of us a filthy look.
“This is the worst. What’s going on?”
“Nothing important.” Ringo holds up his phone. “Want me to order you a coffee?”
“Oohhh, yeah.”
“I hope that order isn’t landing with my mother.” Danny’s face is pure and utter disgust as he makes his way back to his desk.
Ringo doesn’t entertain him—he knows better—and puts in a call, ordering a round of coffees from Starbucks to be delivered.
“So.” Brad snuggles down, hissing and spitting as he tries to get comfortable. “What’s the latest?”
“Sandy’s throwing us treats and James is about to blow a gasket.”
“Normal day then,” he says. “What kind of treats?”
“Russian and bear-flavored treats.” Danny raises his brow to match Brad’s. “Hungry?”
“Starving. Volodya?” We both nod. “So they are turning on each other.” We both nod. “And Sandy must know what’ll happen if he makes false promises.” We both nod. “So he knows who The Bear is?” We both shrug. “I’d love to stick a corkscrew in Volodya’s eye.” Only Danny nods. “And I bet you’d love to chop up Sandy into a million bite-sized pieces.” Brad looks at me, and this time only I nod. He really can’t help stating the obvious. “So where does that leave us?”
“We’re still deciding,” Danny says, glancing at me. He doesn’t need me to tell him that if Sandy comes within a foot of me, I’ll skin the fucker alive. I know he feels the same about Volodya, so we’re at a stalemate.
Brad blows out his cheeks. “What to do, what to do,” he muses to himself. I hear Goldie breathe out her exasperation, and I look at Danny, smiling as he rolls his eyes at yet another Brad moment. “And why are you blowing a gasket?”
“Stressed,” I grunt, throwing off vibes that warns Danny not to murmur a word and the others not to press. I’m seriously re-evaluating my bright idea to move us out of the mansion, if only now because I don’t want Beau to think it’s a sign of relaxed rules. Quite honestly, I’m wondering what the hell I was thinking. In time, perhaps, but now?
A small tap on the door sounds, so light we almost miss it. So light, everyone looks at each other as if searching for confirmation that there was, indeed, a tap. Another tap answers our question. Esther. Only Esther would knock so delicately.