Total pages in book: 39
Estimated words: 36476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 36476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 182(@200wpm)___ 146(@250wpm)___ 122(@300wpm)
Rae’s uniform is a shirt with the bar's name on it and a pair of black pants. The girls that work the floors have on the shortest shorts possible. The deep Vs of their tops give you more than an eyeful when they bend down to get close to try and take your order or deliver a drink.
“Will you change the dress code once you own the place?” Marco drops down in the empty chair at my table. I don’t know where the hell he came from. My attention has been solely on the bar. Why is he even in here?
“You’re really riding a line with me, Marco.”
“I know. I toe it very well, if I do say so myself. You might not know what I’m fully capable of, but you, I know.” I glance over at him, and he actually fucking winks at me.
“The fuck does that even mean?” I barely get the words past my lips and Marco is out of his chair, taking a swing at me. I block it with my forearm, coming to my feet. I go in for an uppercut, which he blocks, but I’ve already slid my arm around that blocked his first swing, and I’ve got him by the wrist. He does the same with the punch I tried to land.
“That’s what I mean.” He smirks, letting my wrist go, but I still have his. One firm twist and that hand would never be the same.
“Are you two going to kiss or do you want some drinks?” a waitress asks.
I release my hold on Marco which I’m sure he knew I would, even if I wanted to snap his damn wrist.
“We’re good.” Marco answers for us but pulls out a hundred to give to the woman, which I’d already done earlier in the night because I was holding up her table. I’m not a complete asshole. She takes it happily before she scurries off.
“It’s in the way you carry yourself. I always know who the threat is in the room based on your body language.” I don’t respond to Marco. It’s been a while since I sparred with anyone. Maybe that’s what I need to get some of this frustration out. Back home, I did it every morning with a professional trainer. “Who taught you how to fight?”
“I taught myself to fight back.” You can only take so many hits before you start to swing back.
“Really.” Marco turns to face me, but my attention is back to the bar where Rae is moving about making one drink after another. “You kept that secret well. I didn’t even see that anywhere.”
“Many think my father was a brilliant businessman. I know him as a showman. He could get anyone to believe anything.” Marco goes quiet again. I’m sure he’s processing everything I’ve just said and is annoyed at himself for not seeing the flaw in my father when he did whatever digging he seems to do into things.
If my father hadn’t keeled over from a heart attack, the world would have seen it eventually. Ponzi schemes can only last so long. His own father must have seen through the act. He’d made sure to protect the Lawson legacy to a degree. We’d all had trusts; what we did with them was on us.
Some of my cousins went on to live somewhat normal but well-off lives. A few went over the edge. Too much money at such a young age can kill you. I was an only child. My drive has always been to be better than him.
I needed to be different, but one of the things that I always thought was one of my father’s downfalls was how obsessive he could be. Even with his businesses that he clearly knew wouldn’t make it. He could never let investments go, even if they were going to shit. I often think he believed his own bullshit sometimes. That he was so deep in his lies that he didn’t know what the truth was.
“Place turns a good profit. I’m sure it’s nothing in comparison to what your normal returns are in your investments but—”
“Are you pretending not to know how much my investments bring in daily?”
“I’m good at what I do, but there are a few companies I don’t touch.” He lifts his hands.
“Would one of those be Castillo Global?”
“That would be one.”
“And that’s not because of Vincent Castillo, is it?”
“No.” It's a solid no, letting me know that’s as much as he’s willing to give, but it’s already so telling. Grayson, who is the head of Vincent’s security, gave me Marco’s number. There is some club of somewhat clean-cut mercenaries. I’m not sure what else to refer to them as, but they’re clearly connected and likely worked for the government at one time or another. “We all have our lines and codes.”