Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
As flashy as Damien is with his money, and the ways he likes to have fun, the organization has most of its holdings locked down pretty tight. I know that has more to do with Ivan's paranoia than anything else. If Damien had been in control longer, we might be having better luck.
Hemlock shakes his head when he ends the call, telling me once again that they didn't find Eli in the house a team had just raided in New Haven. I'd put a lot of hope into that one in particular since it's one of the closer ones to the place we have to assume Eli was at in Hartford.
"Nothing?" I ask.
"Not a damn thing," he says.
I move my gaze to the bodyguard. If I didn't know how Ivan worked, I'd swear the man knows more than he has told us. But after the months I spent with his crew, I know just how disjointed each segment is. I have to consider that Damien is still operating this same way since it has kept Ivan Reese working with damn near perfect impunity for decades. It's one of the things that wasn't broken within the organization.
When I look away again, I see Hemlock is watching the man too. I imagine he's thinking the same thing. There are ways to get people to talk. If the bodyguard is paying attention, his loyalties will more than likely still reside with Damien because the evil bastard has his daughter, and we haven't produced Eli yet. I doubt he has any confidence in our ability to get her free from danger, and there have been times since all this shit started that I feel the same way.
"Tell me again what you do for Damien," Hemlock demands, his voice flat and more than a little scary.
"I drive Mrs. Gaines to her hair appointments."
"You think I'm going to believe that you're employed simply to make a trip into town once a week?" I snap, wondering if it was a good idea to untie the bastard.
Hemlock wanted the man to feel like he wasn't a prisoner, but I doubt he'd be allowed to just stand up and walk out of here.
"What do you do in your downtime the other six fucking days of the week?" Hemlock asks, and I can tell he’s at the end of his patience with this entire situation. As connected to this case as I am, I'm glad for it.
I don't want to sit around and wait. It leaves me feeling helpless and incapable of protecting the people who need it.
I can't even be sure this guy is telling the truth. He could be lying about the daughter to gain sympathy. Damien could have only Eli and this piece of shit just used the information he had to include himself on the victim list.
"There's a warehouse down off Union. A lot of guys work there when we don't have other assignments." His eyes dart between the two of us twice before they narrow. "Am I going to go to prison?"
"Have you done something for Damien Gaines or Ivan Reese that is an imprisonable offense?" Hemlock asks.
Samuel's lips form a flat line, and I can tell by the look in his eyes that the answer is yes.
"What would you do for the ones you love?" he asks, voice low.
"I'd burn the fucking world down and everyone in it," Hemlock answers.
Samuel shifts his weight in the chair he has stayed in since we untied him, but he doesn't speak again for several long moments.
"So I could go to prison?"
Hemlock pulls in a deep breath, blowing it out slowly with a long sigh. "We aren't the fucking feds. We aren't police. We can't offer you shit in exchange for what you know," Hemlock explains. "What I can do is cut away tiny fucking pieces of you until you spill all your fucking secrets. Either way, we'll get the information out of you."
"Who are you then?" Samuel asks, sounding much braver than I know he is from the way his leg is bouncing up and down.
There's a very real chance this guy is just a low-level man in the organization, and he hasn't been given much information. At the same time, he's also trusted with Damien's most lucrative pawn every single week, and that faith in him makes me believe he's more than just a driver.
"Your worst fucking nightmare," Hemlock says, a sinister edge to his voice that makes me glad that I'm on his team instead of the focus of his ire.
"I don't know shit," Samuel mutters, and he drops his eyes from the previous glare at Hemlock. "Drugs are packaged at the warehouse. We monitor the people splitting the shit and getting it ready for distribution."
"The exact address would be nice," Hemlock says. "Would save us a lot of time and energy."