The Broken Pieces novel Chapter 41

I whistled softly to myself as I erased all evidence of my transaction. And closing the laptop altogether.

"Tomas. Tomas? Are you even listening to me?" Emily questioned on the phone and I smiled to myself.

"Yeah, Babe, always."

"Do we have a deal?"

I glared at the man in front of me whose name was Jason. His dark brown hair was jelled down, leaving not a piece out of place as was his suit. Perfect, precise, and professional.

His green eyes studied me before speaking, "you'll be doing the FBI an extreme favor."

I cleared my throat before straightening up in the limo I sat in. "So you want me to get into a car crash?"

"Yes."

"So that Devin can be caught?"

"Yes."

"And I will get paid."

"Affirmative. Every last drop you need."

"Every last drop."

I began to weigh my options in my head.

Pros.

1. Money; for you, Emily, and the future.

2. No more Devin.

3. Help the FBI.

Cons.

1. Possible danger.

"Mr. McCoy, we don't have time to ponder this any longer. Are you in this or not?" Jason asked impatiently.

I bit my lip, letting a few seconds pass by before finally answering the man.

I, at least, owe it to her to explain. Shit, just something, so she doesn't think that I ditched her.

So I write; the pencil digging its way through my finger. I ignore it and finish my last sentence. Folding it before writing her name on it, I stick it in my drawer where I'm sure she'll find it.

Tears slip down my face as I made sure I didn't leave anything I needed behind.

I mean, except her...

With my bag in my hand, I softly kiss the enchanter on her forehead, before pulling the actual blanket on her body and walking out of the door and out of her life.

Swear dropped down my brow and I grumbled.

How in the hell is a ballroom hot as hell? You'd think these cheap bastards would be able to pay for air conditioning. Why they haven't is still a mystery for me.

I pulled on the collar of my suit unprofessionally as I glanced around to see some people doing it too and suddenly I didn't feel that guilty.

"Mark," Someone called and I instantly looked up. Walking over to me was the host, Adam Slinger, a rich playboy with nothing to do but to piss off some bad people.

He moved his way over towards me as two women attached themselves to him like leaches. Hungry leaches looking for only one thing; his money.

I forced a smile on my face as the man drew closer. "Mark. Markie. Mark," he taunted me but thank God it wasn't my really name.