Series: Sean Moriarty
Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 113805 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 569(@200wpm)___ 455(@250wpm)___ 379(@300wpm)
A loud uncharacteristic laugh comes out of Coss through the wood wall. So loud and out of the blue, I flinch.
“Then you know shit, boy,” Coss says with anger. “They’ve went and formed a collective with the fucking Yakuza. The fucking Yakuza, Jude.”
That does stop my next words quickly.
We’ve only sparingly dealt with the Yakuza, in part because we thought we burned them out thoroughly a few years back.
I was the one in Japan sending them their messages.
Well, more like delivering them to their doorsteps. Severed heads, cocks and balls stuffed in the mouth. I did things for Lucifer those few months that even now I don’t allow myself to think of.
Those were very dark times for the family.
Coss must sense my inner thoughts for something else though.
He says in a quiet voice, “Jude, you just need to reason with Matthew. Let me help. We can get this settled before anyone else has to die.”
“Help how?” I ask and tilt my head. “What can be done now?”
“Daniel is not a powerful figurehead anymore, but his nephew is one of the main faces. He can be reasoned with. He can be talked to. We can stop this and make things right. We can end this silly war with a few reparations.”
I take a step back and can feel the sin of this man trying to seep its way into me. I can feel the corruption of his very soul trying to stain my own.
“Careful, old man. Your Judas colors are showing,” I say and turn to the door. “I’ll report what you’ve said to Lucifer. But know this, if you ever request my presence again, I’ll poison the next meatloaf those little old ladies out there love to bring you. Hemlock or belladonna would work perfectly.”
“How dare you—” Coss sputters, but I cut him off.
“Don’t worry, I’ll show myself out. I know the road out of here… This damnable house of corruption,” I say then spit on the floor of the church.
I can feel evil menace permeating from his little fucking traitor’s den, and it makes me want to vomit.
Moving down the aisle of pews, I look at all the little old ladies staring at me, aghast in their revulsion.
Bowing down deeply for them all, I smile at their disgust. It’s not me they should be reviled by.
Slamming both church doors open, I stalk out to my bike. I put my helmet on my head and start it up in a thunderous roar.
Fucking hell.
The Bratva and the Yakuza.
Looking down at my watch, I see that it’s still business hours. With the news I just received, I sigh.
Pulling my phone from my pocket, I message Simon.
Me: Meet me at Lucifer’s office. ASAP.
Simon: There in fifteen minutes.
Putting my phone back in my pocket, I stare at the church for a moment.
There’s no God there, only fucking Judas and his harem.
A little bug in my ear whispers for me to set it all ablaze and watch the whole sham turn into a fiery inferno.
The ride from the church to the office takes far longer than I would like, but then again it’s still not as long as it would take if I was driving in my car.
Racing between cars, I weave in and out of the traffic that seems to pop up out of nowhere. I’m guessing it’s the usual rush hour assholes doing asshole things.
I can feel my phone vibrating in my pocket a couple times, but with the speed I’m going I can’t exactly stop to look at it. That may be a reason why I should have taken the car.
Everyone is being protected.
There is no reason to freak out.
Calm.
Bullshit.
I can’t be fucking calm.
Not if the news from Coss is true. Eden is at home without me.
My gut says I’ve got something bad coming up.
Whipping my head around me, I try to spot if I have a tail, but I don’t see anything.
No cars trying to follow me. No one trying to slam into the back of my bike.
No bullets whizzing by or ripping into the back of my suit, piercing my lungs and ending my heartbeat.
Nothing is happening around me.
But I can feel it all the same.
Something is happening.
Racing through the city, I peel around the block of Lucifer’s office building and slam my brakes to a stop when I come up in front of the secured entrance to the underground garage.
Pulling my helmet off for a brief moment, I motion to the guards at the entrance.
Shouting over the rumble of my bike, I ask, “Any odd activity?”
The one who reaches me first shakes his head. “Nothing out of the norm, sir.”
“Bring extra men in, something’s off but I can’t tell what it is yet,” I tell him.
“Yes, sir,” he says to me.
Nodding my head, I drive down the ramp as soon as the gate goes up.