Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Four years ago, I would’ve left with my money and never looked back, but things have changed. I turn to Ling. Her discreet nod is all I need.
With a firm nod, I stand and straighten my jacket. “Okay. I’ll talk to Alejandra.”
One week earlier…
As I walk through the city street with my head down, my hoodie acting as camouflage, I sigh in irritation. Every second that passes reminds me I’m not home.
Instead, I’m here. On assignment.
Jesus fucking Christ, I hate the city. Bright lights, horns honking, a distinct smell of death in the air while people walk around with cell phones attached to their ears and sticks shoved up their asses.
As I approach the building, I make my way down the alley. I have to wait another fifteen minutes before I’m clear to enter.
I pull out my cell phone and write a quick text.
Me: About to have a meeting with No 1.
A minute passes before I get a response.
Happy: Make it a short visit. I need to talk to you.
My chest tightens. Before I can think, I dial and lift the phone to my ear. The second he answers, I ask a tight, “What’s wrong?”
Happy places the phone down a moment before I hear footsteps. “Are you out of your mind? You can’t just call like this, asshole. We have a procedure,” he hisses down the line.
Fuck that shit. “Something’s wrong. What’s wrong?”
He sounds exasperated. “Nothing’s wrong, man. Jesus, I just—”
In the background, I hear the voice of a small child. “Uncle Happy, you want ice cream?”
Shit. Fuck.
My breathing heavies; my voice turns hoarse. “That’s him, isn’t it?”
Completely ignoring me, Happy responds to my son, “Heck, yeah. Tell your mom I want lots of hot fudge on mine.” My eyes close in pain at the mention of Lexi. Then Happy’s back with a sigh. “You can’t just call like this, T.”
Devoid of emotion, I respond a hushed, “I know.”
“You’ll fuck everything up.”
“I know.”
A moment of silence, then Happy utters, “It’s his birthday next week.”
I know that. Does he fucking think I’d forget something like my own son’s birthday? The reason I’m out here is because of him. Because I fucking love him. My jaw clamps shut, and fighting the urge to grind my teeth together, I calm myself. “I know.”
Happy states, “I know you know, moron. I wanted to talk to you, because I wanted to give him something of yours, but I wanted your input.”
And just like that, my anger fizzles.
“That’s uh—” I cough. “That’s real nice. Thanks, man.”
“No problem. I was thinking your skull and crossbones cufflinks.”
Those were my favorite cufflinks. I smile. “I think that’s a good idea.”
I hear the smile in his voice. “All right then.” A moment’s hesitation before he asks, “How much longer you gonna be out there, T? He’s nearly four. He’s growin’ up without you, man.”
Not in the mood for a lecture, I respond a gruff, “As long as it takes.” Then I hang up.
I’ll stay out here forever if I need to. I’ll do whatever I have to do to keep my family safe.
Placing my phone back in my pocket, I check the time.
6:59 p.m.
Making my way out of the alley, I clip on my false ID, approach the intercom and press the buzzer.
“Yes?”
I mutter a bored, “Yo, I got an urgent delivery here for an Andrew Ivanon.”
The intercom hisses. “You mean Andrei Ivanov?”
“Yeah, sure. Him.”
“Okay. I’ll sign for it.”
I hiss a short breath through my lips then scratch my chin. “Uh, yeah, no can do. I need a signature from the man himself. Something about court papers or some crap.”
A slight pause, then, “Please wait a moment.” I stand by the door, whistling badly. When the intercom hisses a second time, the voice instructs, “Go to the side entrance. I’ll escort you up.”
Geez. They’re making this way too easy. Andrei should be disgusted.
I walk back down the alley and wait at the security door. When it opens, two armed security officers greet me with what I’m sure they think are intimidating expressions. In response, I hold up my UPS badge and raise my brows, “Any day now, boys. Once I deliver this letter, I’m off duty.”
The taller of the men hands me a book, and I sign myself in with no hesitation. The second man walks me to the elevator. When he steps inside with me, I fight a scowl. He keys in level three and, as to plan, my phone alarm starts to sing. Making a show of taking it out of my pocket, I sigh, “Sorry ‘bout that.” The alarm sings louder and louder till the elevator is booming with the sounds of birds tweeting and a soft piano song. I yell over the alarm, “I set it to remember to watch Survivor.”
The alarm finally off, the security guard allows a moment of silence, before uttering, “Pretty sure Missy’s going to win.”