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)
“I think,” she says on an exhale, not stopping what she’s doing, “before I give you any opinions on anything, I would like an apology.”
Otto. The fucker. My anger for that particular grievance is renewed. Unfortunately, I have other priorities. “I’m sorry,” I grunt. “But—”
Her knife comes up fast, pointing at me. “No buts, Danny. I am a grown woman, and I am your mother. Do you hear me? Your mother. I take care of you, take care of everyone around here, so you will back the hell off.”
“You deserve more tha—”
“A murdering criminal?”
I scowl. “This isn’t ab—”
“Do I deserve more than that in a son too?” she asks. “Because if anyone asked me to swap you for a more moral version, I’d tell them to fuck off.” She catches a breath, and I step back, alarmed. “Because I love you just the way you are, Danny, and everything you are is because you’re a fucking survivor.”
I recoil.
Fuck.
Me.
Received loud and clear. “I’m sorry,” I say, my tail between my legs.
“Good.”
“So what do you think?”
“About what?” she snaps, impatient, and still slightly breathless from her rant.
“School for Daniel.”
She sighs, her body loosening. “I think it’s a very good idea if we can find the right one, of course.”
A safe one. “Me too.”
“Do you want me to look into it?”
I nod. “But let me speak to Rose first.” Just as soon as I’ve dealt with the other shit. “I’ll be in my office.” I go to my mum, standing before her like I’m asking permission. I suppose I am. She lets a small smile free and gives me her cheek, not surrendering her potato or knife, and I drop a kiss there before leaving her, telling myself I need to shut the fuck up where her love life is concerned. But, I swear, if he hurts her, I won’t hold back.
I pass Pearl and Anya in the hallway, both girls in gym kit, both a little sweaty. “Good workout?” I ask as I pass.
“Oh, you’re back.” Pearl looks straight toward my office. “Any news on Brad?”
Oh? My feet slow to a stop, my body turning toward them. Anya has a nearly undetectable smile on her face as she looks at Pearl out the corner of her eye. What’s this then? “He’s back,” I say, watching her closely.
Her face. It’s shocked, pleased, nervous. Oh fuck. “He is?” she squeaks. “How is he?”
“Grumpy.”
“Standard,” Pearl says over a laugh. “So where’s he been?”
Now . . . do I tell her? This girl is twenty-one. Brad is thirty-four. He was twenty-one when Pops dragged him out of a hotel and gave him a lesson in acceptable levels of indulgence. Pearl was eight when Brad was twenty-one. Jesus. So, yes, I do tell her. She’s young. Delusional. The best thing Pearl could do is hate Brad, so let’s make that happen. “He locked himself in a suite at The Four Seasons and fucked his way through hooker after hooker.”
Her face. Disappointment, hurt, sadness. I take no pleasure from it. But . . . I also know Brad. He values women about as much as the devil values confession. “Esther needs some help in the kitchen.” I get on my way and enter my office to find everyone still and silent. James has his back to me, quietly seething in the chair, Brad’s on the couch, looking a fucking wreck, Otto’s setting up his shiny new laptop, and Ringo and Goldie are on their phones. “Glad to see the party didn’t start without me.” I close the door and go to my desk, assessing James. He really is green. Probably sick with worry. “Where’s Nolan?”
“Gone back to Hiatus,” Brad says. “I’m here for the lowdown, then I’m going.” Escaping. Running away. Because of Pearl. Fucking hell, he can’t stay here because of her. Is she coming on to him? Does he find the redhead attractive? Doesn’t he trust himself?
All questions for another day.
“So, a recap?” I ask the room.
“Sure, why not.” Ringo sets his phone aside, ready for a rundown on the day’s events, and fuck, it’s been quite a day.
Understatement. “We have Luis, Sandy, Volodya, and before Beau killed him, The Shark, all wanting our guns.”
“It’s a good job you drunk ordered more then, huh?” Otto says without looking up from his laptop. He’s pushing it. I hope Mum made him feel as shitty as she made me feel. And I hope that fat lip he’s sporting means it hurts like a bitch if he kisses her. Have they kissed?
“Volodya?” James questions, distracting me from socking Otto one in the face.
“Yes. He called earlier.”
“When are we meeting Sandy?” he asks.
“I don’t know.”
“I told you to arrange something.”
He told me? “I’m sorry, I’ve been kinda busy trying to not fucking die.” I stand and shrug off the coat I’ve been wearing all fucking day. “And maybe now, in light of Volodya calling, I might not be agreeable to meeting Sandy.”