Page 50 of Hate to Love You
“Alright fine, if you do it, I’ll give you a raise,” I hiss. “And what was the name of that band you love? The screaming rock band with the goth clothing and all the black shit around their eyes? Ink & Stain, was it?”
The phone goes quiet for a minute.
“Are you talking about Shrink & Pain?” Ana asks, her tone suddenly lighter and more curious.
“Maybe?”
“My favorite band since high school that—”
“Yeah, that’s the one,” I say, cutting her off. “Let’s just say if you don’t agree to help me with this, you have my word that good ol’ Ink Stain won’t make it to their next tour destination. I’m thinking a pipe bomb explodes on their tour bus, but I might consult the boys to see what they think.”
“Y…you wouldn’t!”
“Wouldn’t I, Ana?” I ask wickedly.
The phone goes completely silent.
“You know, I really fucking hate you sometimes.”
“That’s fine, you can hate to love me,” I say. “But I’m sending you a screenshot for the number I need identified and just remember the fate of Ink Stain is up to you.”
“It’s Shrink & Pain you prick!” She screams into the phone before hanging up.
Lev laughs from the front seat. “Dude, you’re such a dick.”
“Yeah, I know,” I shrug.
Within five minutes Ana sends me back the identified digits of the unidentified number that text me, a quick synopsis of the owner…and a bunch of middle-finger emojis.
I’ll let those slide.
Immediately I dial it.
“Who the fuck is this?”
The voice on the other end of the phone sounds young,
“Roman fucking Antonov,” I snarl.
“Oh shit!” I hear the kid say, panic in his voice as he tries to cover the receiver. “Psst! Cillian it’s him! Fuck, how the hell did he get this number?!”
“Because I’m God, you cunt,” I snap. “You should also know I’ve also got your home address, and the name of the assisted living facility where your grandma lives. So why don’t you stop pretending you have hair on your balls and put me on the phone with someone who does.”
There is a moment of silence, and shuffling before a man answers the phone.
“Evening, Roman,” Cillian McCleary’s voice sounds through the line. “I apologize for my associate. He’s…new.”
“Clearly,” I snort. “Tell me, Cillian, do you normally have pubescent teens do your dirty work? Last I heard there are rules about child labor, even in New York.”
“You preaching about rules is a bit rich, don’t you think?” Cillian says sarcastically. “You can’t even keep to a truce. Perhaps they didn’t cover that in your fancy mafia school.”
“No, I just shot the teacher,” I smile.
“I see you’re already here. Why don’t you pull into warehouse number one, we will see you in five.”
“Looking forward to it, darling,” I say, rolling my eyes.
Naturally, there’s a part of me that worries that me and my men could be rolling into a trap, and for a second I think about Ana practically begging me not to go through with this meeting tonight, insisting that we would all get ourselves killed.