Total pages in book: 58
Estimated words: 55748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55748 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 279(@200wpm)___ 223(@250wpm)___ 186(@300wpm)
“What chance?” I hiss. “The chance to lose his grandfather before he had a chance to really know him? Or the chance to lose his dad? What the heck are you even talking about?”
“You’re a dumb slut,” Owen snaps. “Killian is the prince of this Family. If he wanted, he could’ve picked up the crown the day his father died. Instead, he managed restaurants. That’s the most ludicrous thing he could’ve done. It’s an insult to all the men who have been fighting and climbing their entire lives to be where they are.”
“But you haven’t fought, Owen,” I say, hitting his ego, knowing it’s going to hurt, knowing he’s going to feel the misguided need to defend it. “I might not know everything, but I’m not as dumb as you seem to think. Frank is the Don of the Family. I’ve been listening all night long. He’s in charge. He took what he wanted. I heard the rumors. I heard what he did. He was willing to kill his own brother. You just stayed on the sidelines.”
I gasp when Owen grabs the front of my dress and pulls me toward him. He moves the barrel of the gun toward my mouth, pressing it between my lips. Suddenly, I’m a lost kid again, walking across the windswept fields, a storm coming, no savior in sight.
“Frank didn’t do a goddamn thing,” Owen snarls, spittle flying from his mouth. “You need to speak to me with some respect. You’re looking at a god. For years, I’ve shown everyone what I wanted them to see. When dear dead grandaddy died, I was a mourning friend. When the next Don slid off the road, I was a grieving brother-in-arms. Nobody looked at me. Not once. I’ve played my role perfectly. You’re looking at a man capable of killing two generations of Dons and getting away with it. What do you think I’ll do with you? Now, nod if you understand; you work for me now—”
Suddenly, the door bursts open. Killian rushes in, aiming his gun at Owen, another man beside him.
Owen moves far faster than I would’ve expected from him, turning around and placing the gun against the side of my head. Killian stares with pure hate in his eyes.
“Let her go,” he growls.
“Motherfucker,” Owen snaps.
“It’s over. I heard it all.”
“Is this bitch wearing a wire?”
“It’s over.”
The man beside Killian snaps, “Fuck, Killian.”
“What?”
“Frank’s coming… with backup.”
I try not to show any fear, but it’s difficult with the gun pressed against me, with the tension in Owen’s body. I can sense how badly he wants to pull the trigger.
“I knew you were up to something,” Frank says, voice slurred, out of view beyond the doorway.
Killian keeps his gun trained on Owen, but he turns his head. “Stay out of this, Frank.”
“Frank,” Owen calls. “Your nephew knows. The bitch tricked me.”
“He knows?” Franks says, confused.
“He knows, Frank,” Owen grits out pointedly.
“Wait… Uncle Frank, you’re in on this?”
“We’re not having a fucking shootout here,” Frank bellows. “Are you insane? That’ll mean the Feds for all of us.”
“I’m not letting Owen leave after what he just confessed.”
“Then I hope you’re okay picking a bullet out of this bitch’s brains,” Owen snaps. “How many years do you think I’ve got left, young prince? Five? Ten? I’ll gladly end my time prematurely if that’s what it takes to finally show you how helpless you are.”
Killian grinds his teeth. The man beside him – I think his name is Colm if I’m remembering correctly – quietly says, “Shit, Killian, I hate to say it, but Frank’s got a point. A shootout here won’t help anybody. We need to fight another day.”
“Put the gun down, Owen,” Killian snarls.
“What’s stopping you from shooting me if I do that? I’ll have my driver pull a car up. Frank will keep his gun on you. I’ll keep the woman close by until the last moment.”
“It’s okay,” I tell Killian. “Do what you need to do.”
“I mean it,” Owen snaps, pressing the gun harder into my temple. “I’ll end it right here.”
“Fuck.” Killian glares. “Pull the car up, Frank.”
For the next few minutes, everything is on a knife-edge.
“So much for needing a walking stick,” Colm mutters as Owen walks out of the room, using me as a human shield. He takes me out a side entrance, then, right before darting into a car with Frank, I shove Owen, breaking his hold on me.
Killian catches me, wrapping his arms around me and holding me tight as the car screeches away. I try to stay strong, to keep my shield up, but the moment I feel his arms around me, I break down into a torrent of tears.
“It’s okay,” Killian whispers, kissing the top of my head. “You did well, a stór. You played him perfectly.”
Twenty
KILLIAN
For two days, I sleep maybe three or four hours as Colm and I search the city for Frank and Owen. I have Ronan moved to a private medical facility, and I put guards on my penthouse twenty-four hours a day. I also release the audio of Owen admitting to what he did to my grandfather, my father, to the entire goddamn Family.