Total pages in book: 20
Estimated words: 18326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 18326 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 92(@200wpm)___ 73(@250wpm)___ 61(@300wpm)
I understand why Benjamin was so eager to tuck tail and run. But as I observe the people enjoying their fight night, I catch a glimpse of my father. He’s dressed in a tan suit, with a coat to match, and a white scarf running down the length of his body. A fat cigar hangs from his lips, and a fedora rests loosely atop his head. The worst part is, he’s walking toward us.
“You didn’t tell me he was going to be here,” I whisper. My tummy bubbles anxiously. Everything’s going perfectly, and Father always has a way of ruining things.
A deep rumble emits from Harker’s chest. “I hoped he’d keep his distance after what happened at your party.”
Both the crowd and Harker’s guards yield to my father and allow him to pass.
“You’ve got to be shitting me. You let the girl come?” He doesn’t sound angry or even confrontational. It’s just a jab to ruin my good mood. “It’s fight night. She’s just going to get in the way of our fun.”
Harker sighs. “Here we go,” he mutters to me. He stands up from the bar, puffing out his chest, but his hand snakes down my arm as he takes my hand in his. “I’m only going to say this once. From now on, when you speak to Penelope or speak of her, you do so with respect.”
“Woah, woah, woah, calm down, buddy boy. I’m only messing.” Father’s eyes drift to our hands and a disgusting smile mutates behind his cigar. “I take it you two are getting along, then?”
“Incredibly so,” Harker says. A swarm of butterflies flutter in my belly and consume the nervousness I felt with Father’s arrival.
“Good. Glad to hear it.” He removes the cigar from his mouth and ashes it on the floor. “Say, are you going to take care of that little thing for us?”
“Yes, I’m going to make sure the money is laundered,” Harker spits. “You don’t have to use code. I’ve told her everything.”
“You did what?” Father roars. His pale face turns a deep shade of red.
“We share a home, Zander. I’m not going to lie or dance through hoops to keep secrets from her. She asked and I answered.” Harker squeezes my hand in his grip. “Is that going to be a problem?”
How could I have ever doubted Harker at all? Why would I ever want to run from the man who has done everything in his power to make me feel comfortable and safe? He’s even willing to go toe to toe with my dad and put him in his place where necessary.
Yeah, there’s no escaping him. Not even with the knowledge of the fucked-up stuff he’s done and will continue to do. He’s perfect just the way he is.
“Why are you even here?” Harker raises a quizzical brow. “Shouldn’t you be home coddling your newborn heir?”
“It’s fight night, baby. I’m not missing this shit for the world. The woman will take care of the kid. He’s not much use to me right now, anyway.” With that, Father spins on his heels and makes his way back to Uncle Percy at the bar.
“What a dick,” Harker mumbles to himself.
“You said it,” I sigh and collapse into the barstool.
“The fight’s going to start soon, so I should take care of our business. You’re going to be safe here while I’m away.”
I never had a doubt in my mind that I wouldn’t be.
“How long will you be?” I tighten my grip on Harker’s hand. I don’t want him to go. Not because he’s about to sign off on some shady deal but because I can’t get enough of him.
“I’ll be back before the first bell rings.” He leans in to give me a kiss on the cheek and grabs his drink. After one last, long breath, he steps into the crowd and disappears among the sea of people.
8
HARKER
“You underestimate me, Mr. Jameson. I’m not only promising that your money will come out clean, I’m telling you, I can do what you want at double the speed,” the Accountant says.
He's scrawny, gangly, and balding, with thick spectacles that reflect the low light of the lamp on the desk in front of him, masking his eyes. His wide grin is enough to send shivers down the spine of even the bravest men, and his voice is as shrill as nails on a chalkboard.
The Accountant, as he likes to be called, is a man I’ve had the displeasure of working with for too long. But he’s damn good at what he does, even if what he does is so damn bad.
“How much are you trying to squeeze me for?” I know what this is about. He’s not going to do more work out of the kindness of his heart. He wants a bigger cut from the proceedings I send his way.