Total pages in book: 260
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 245483 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1227(@200wpm)___ 982(@250wpm)___ 818(@300wpm)
“Cillian?” my uncle calls out when he first sees me. Standing by the pool table, a whiskey glass in hand, there’s not a billiard ball in sight because some kind of plans are laid out on the table. He’s quick to gather them, as if they’re not for me to see. “You’re early,” he adds, his voice dropping and his gaze lowering to land on Kat. His nondescript tee and worn jeans are at odds with how I remember this place. It feels empty and cold.
“And you brought company,” he states and his voice drops even lower.
Heat blazes across my skin. “Yeah, church isn’t for another hour,” Finn calls out from the other side of the room. Unlike my uncle, Finn’s got his leathers on as well as a pair of reading glasses and a yellow legal pad.
“We’re just going over the numbers, something’s off,” Finn adds, his Irish accent thick, and then sets the pad down on the kitchen counter. It’s all the same in this place. The same but older; less thrilling, less wanting.
Is that what they’re doing? The fucking accounting?
“Where is everyone?” I call out. It’s Sunday so the garage is closed, but this place … it was never empty. There was always someone here. Footsteps echo down from the stairwell to my right in the narrow hall, the one that leads to the third floor. They’re fast paced and light, and it doesn’t take long for Reed to come into view.
His expression not at all surprised, and very much carrying the guilt of what my last message said to him.
“You should probably wait for church to start …” My uncle’s voice gathers my attention, “… so you can find your place.”
My teeth grind as I take a step forward, Kat protesting slightly as I pull her in behind me.
“You get my message?” I question Reed, who stalks in after us, carefully following.
“Yeah, I got it,” he answers, his glance moving between myself and Kat. They share a look and it’s one I don’t fucking like.
“Maybe we should go?” Kat asks as I walk to the right of the hall. To the left is the pool table, the television and a sofa which is new and takes up the depth of the room. To the right is the kitchen and before that, the dinner table.
Ignoring Kat, I count the seats and then glance up at my uncle to say, “How many are coming to dinner?”
“Cill–” Kat starts, raising a hand but Reed stops her, murmuring softly, “It’s okay.” I don’t have time to react to them as my uncle answers, “The same as always. Ten.”
“We’ll need to make that eleven,” I state and then stalk to the back where two armchairs with old rubbed leather are seated under the windows.
Snatching one of them, I drag it across the room to make eleven chairs around the table. “I hadn’t realized Kat stopped coming, but that mistake has been rectified,” I call out across the empty room. It’s maybe fifty feet from my uncle to me, but there’s not a damn thing that separates the tension.
In only hours all the patched men will be upstairs in the office for church and after that, it’s Sunday dinner with all our families. Or that’s how it used to be.
Ten.
The number is so damn low.
When did the club dwindle to that? It’s not until the legs of the chair are under the table that it hits me. There used to be nine in church alone.
What the fuck happened?
“I can go,” Kat speaks and Reed silently watches her.
“You’re not going.”
As she stares back at me wide eyed and Reed glances between the two of us, the only thing that races through my mind is that I should be the one leading church. I was lined up to be president.
“We need to talk,” I announce to my uncle and he’s silent, his deep brown eyes boring into mine. I add, “When are we talking?”
“With her here?” the prick dares to question.
Agitation wars with my common sense and anger bristles within me.
“Cillian, calm down.” Kat’s voice is meek, so unlike her.
“Calm down, man. Let’s talk,” Reed adds. All the while, my uncle only watches. Finn does the same although it’s different. Finn has the decency to look confused and lost. His hands raise and he asks what’s going on. He doesn’t know what’s wrong and that’s obvious.
My uncle does, though.
“I left and you turned your back on her,” I say, then look my best friend in the eye and he stares back at me like I’ve sucker punched him.
“It’s not like that, and you know it.”
Just as I make my move toward Reed there’s a crash downstairs from the door being thrown wide open and a deep voice I don’t recognize bellows, “We have a warrant to search the premises!” The stairwell of this old place is narrow and the four cops who climb the stairs show one by one, guns pulled and at the ready. Three men, one woman, and none of them look friendly to me.