PHYSICAL OVERVIEW INSIDE.
“Surprised?” Aras says, making me look up.
“Tryintrigued.”
Timothy is Fredrick Byron’s son, who is the head of the Byron family. And that, in simple terms, makes Timothy the heir of the Byron family.
The Byrons, along with the Gaddafis, the Lutkuses, and the Rajvanshs, all but run the city of Anaheim. So, seeing Timothy’s name on the envelope does pique my interest.
“Timhere has been selling drugs to my boxers for quite some time now,” Aras begins, then leans back in his chair. “At first, I let it slide; I thought it was a temporary thing. But then he kept doing it, and doing it, and now I’ve had two ODs in the last three months. I’m sure you’re aware that the Byrons deal in drugs behind the closed, opulent doors of the Michelin-star restaurants they run throughout the city, so Timothy has access to the most top-notch stuff. And the tit-sucker has been trying to impress his father by bringing in extra money by extracting it frommypeople, in turn affecting my business.”
“You think his dad is aware of what he’s doing?” I question, then check out Timothy’s photo. Red hair, blue eyes, and the face of someone who didn’t have to die if he hadn’t fucked up. Too bad I don’t give a shit.
“Fred probably knows and thinks I’m okay with it. The Byrons and Lutkuses don’t exactly have any beef, so he must’ve assumed he could send his pup to piss on my territory, and I wouldn’t say or do anything about it.”
“Presumptuous,” I mutter, then put away the photo and envelope. “But if you guys have no conflict between you, then wouldn’t killing his son start some sort of a war? I mean, Timothy would be dying onyourproperty.” And if a war was to ensue, me and my family would probably get dragged into it, and that’s something I’m not sure I want.
“Tim is disliked by a lot of people who’ll be at the gala tonight,” Aras informs. “He’s been known to have given controversial speeches about some of the upper classes on more than one occasion. Who’s to say someone took it upon themselves to slit his throat while he was in a darkened corner of the estate, snorting some coke, or maybe fucking a rando.”
“Wait, but I thought he was amotivationalspeaker,” I muse.
Aras grins. “Semantics, Ledger. Semantics.”
I chuckle.
“So, you got any questions?”
I lift a shoulder. “Just the basics: cleanup and security details. The safety of me and my crew. Location of any available emergency exit for when things get dicey.”
“You don’t have to worry about any of that,” Aras says. “My security team knows you’ll be at the estate, so they’ve been instructed not to bother you. The CCTV cameras will be active throughout the property, but any footage of you and the crew will later be removed, you have my word. Any other potential evidence – fingerprints, etc – will all be erased before the cops get their hands on the bodies. My brother has a highly-trained clean-up team, and in his absence, they won’t mind working for me. The estate has three exits: the first is the main door, of course. The second is a door just beyond the foyer, and leads to the back of the estate. And the final one is in my bedroom, which is on the first floor.”
“Perfect.”
“As for the money: I’ll transfer half of the agreed amount to your bank account before the gala, and the other half will be given to you after Jedediah has been dealt with and I’ve been shown visual proof of the same.”
“You got it.” I gesture at the photos and envelopes strewn across the table. “Send me a soft copy of these if ya can.”
“Magner will send you an encrypted email, along with the password.”
I nod again, then get to my feet. “Alright, I’ll see you both tonight, then.”
A familiar spark of adrenaline shoots through my body, and I can all buttastethe blood on my tongue. Fuck, I’m so ready to get back into this; to give into the addiction while my impulses run wild.
Aras’s lips twist up in a sharp smile as he scans my face, knowing exactly what I’m feeling right now. “See you tonight, Ledger,” he says, then gives me a two-finger salute.
3.
Iaim my Glock at the target board that’s a few meters away from me in my spacious backyard, and shoot. With the silencer on, my gun barely makes a dull sound, and as I lower my arms, I notice that the bullet has pierced a spot inches away from the bullseye.
Well,fuck.
Varsha started giving me shooting lessons after Dorran gifted me a Glock 42 on my birthday two months ago. He had it customized and shipped all the way from Everett, Pennsylvania, and it is now, without a doubt, the most beautiful thing I own.
A few hummingbirds pass by me, making me look around.
Dorran and I’s backyard is one of my favorite things about our new home. Fenced on all four sides, it’s got a wood-themed patio with two beige sofas, two loveseats, and a black-marble fire table. The crew and I have spent quite a few nights out here, some with me singing my lungs out while madly drunk, and Dorran trying to get me to calm down, and others where Varsha, Dor, and I had to listen to Alex complaining about Henry Cavill having been replaced by Liam Hemsworth as Geralt of Rivia onThe Witcher.
I tilt the gun upward, and it catches the golden sunlight in just the right way.
