Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52319 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 262(@200wpm)___ 209(@250wpm)___ 174(@300wpm)
He was spiraling out of control. He lost control when he lost control over my mother. I don't think he knew how the fuck to handle the stress without someone to torment. The high wasn't as fun for him when he couldn't use it to make her miserable. It took more and more drugs to give him the same rush, the same thrill. And he never managed to find it because it was never the drugs that excited him. It was the power that came with being a violent fucking bully to his wife and son. That was the real drug for him. And no matter how much money he spent or how much cocaine he snorted, he couldn't recreate that feeling when I wrested it away from him.
I hope the loss of control ate at him every goddamn day until the end. It's what he deserved. But he kept his word, so I'm trying to keep mine. He kept his hands off her. I'm trying to keep his goddamn secret. He doesn't deserve it. But I owe it to him, as fucked up as that is.
I don't want to owe him a damn thing. I want to never think about him again, in fact. But I've never been able to accomplish that. Like Daniel said, his goddamn ghost still haunts me. And the bastard is probably laughing his ass off about it, enjoying every second of my misery. He always did.
An hour later, I'm sitting at the long bar at the Devil's Run with Memphis when Alton Jackson, head of the Dixie Mafia in Tennessee, strolls in, dressed in a pinstripe suit and matching tie. From where I'm sitting, he could be anyone. He certainly doesn't look like the leader of fucking criminal syndicate. But looks are deceiving. And he's one big piece of shit in a suit.
"Play it cool," Memphis murmurs to me, his voice pitched low. "Don't let him rile you."
I jerk my chin in a nod, watching warily as Jackson strides toward us, his gaze sharp and assessing as it rolls over me.
"Hill," he says in a deep southern drawl.
"Jackson," I growl.
He glances from me to Memphis. "Hughes."
Memphis jerks his chin in a nod, grunting wordlessly.
Jackson glances back at me. "You demanded an audience. I'm here," he says. "What do you want?"
"To pay my father's debt."
Surprise flares in his eyes. "You know how much he owes?"
"I know. I want it paid off, and I want your people gone."
"What's the catch?" Jackson asks. He's smart.
"No catch. But I do have terms."
"Ah." His lips twist in a mocking smile. "So you think that's how this works, do you? I'm not a debt collection agency, Hill. You don't get to negotiate the price down or set conditions. He owes. You pay. End of story."
"I'm guessing he owes you enough money to make your cock hard," I mutter, eyeing him levelly. "You wouldn't have shown up today if he didn't. Which means you want it."
"We can always exact our price through other means." His mocking smile grates on my nerves. "I believe you're familiar with those means."
"You mean murder," I say bluntly. "There's just one problem with that, Jackson. Dead bodies don't get you paid. And last I checked, skin is only a currency when it comes to fucking. You can kill whoever you want to kill. It won't pay your bills. My money will. Your choice."
His lips compress into a line. "And what is it you want enough to offer up so much of it? Let me guess." He holds up a finger. "The men who killed dear old daddy."
"Their names will do," I snap. "And I want your people to leave the girl alone. If I pay you, she's off-limits. So is her entire family and everyone she knows."
"That's an awful big list."
"It's an awful lot of money."
"What else?" he asks.
"You and your people disappear back into the hole you crawled out of. You don't come around again. There will be no additional payments. There will be no trying to get more. You get what you're owed, and you walk the fuck away."
"And the police?"
"Not my goddamn problem," I snap, holding his gaze. "If you didn't want them stressing you, you shouldn't have killed a goddamn record executive in Nashville. That was your mistake, not mine."
"Rookie mistake," Memphis mutters, earning a glare from Jackson. He isn't wrong though. It was a stupid move. If the police crack their little organization apart over it, that's their problem. And sooner or later, the police will put the pieces together. They'll realize who my father was getting his drugs from. And they'll go looking. With a case this high profile, they cannot afford not to go looking. They need that win.
Which means Jackson and his people will lose. If Jackson is smart, he'll take the money and disappear before they come knocking. Someone else in their organization will take the fall, and he'll keep on doing what the fuck he does in some other city. I'm guessing it won't be the first time. It probably won't be the last, either.