Page 63 of Johnny

I helped Logan plan his big mob boss exit a couple years back. He’s not in the Way. At least,

neither of us think he is. The deal he made to get out was a real one. An exchange of services. A way

to transfer power from one asshole who kept him in chains to another one who cut him free. But when

you make deals with the kind of people we run with you never know if someone’s word is good.

Trusting them is always a risk.

So hell, the fact that he’s still alive is a win. And the whole living-the-good-life look he’s sporting

right now is a big-ass bonus.

“So?” I say. “What do you have for me?”

“I can get what you need. Am getting what you need,” he stresses. “But not until tomorrow. That’s

part of the reason why I got you the rooms. Just… relax for a minute. Eat too much, drink too much,

swim in the fuckin’ pool.” He looks around. “I thought you said you had a guest?”

“I do,” I say. “At least I think I do. But she’s shopping right now. Gonna meet her on the yacht

later.”

“Shit,” Logan says, taking out his phone. “You got a pic of her? I’ll send it to my security and he

can head her off and bring her here.”

He nods over his shoulder and that’s when I notice a big local guy standing against the outer wall

of the restaurant. Hands folded in front of him, eyes sweeping the area with a concentrated gaze that

lets everyone know he’s on a mission and not to be fucked with.

“No,” I say. “I don’t. But she’s white. Not just Caucasian, but fucking pale. And blonde. And

wearing too-big cut-off shorts and a too-big white t-shirt because I found her practically naked and

chained in a fucking dungeon on one of the Way’s prison islands a few hours southeast of here.”

“Jesus,” Logan says.

“I know. I probably should’ve left her there. Or killed her. Because when I went to that place I was

on script. And when I left, I wasn’t.”

“Yeah.” Logan sighs. Then looks up at his approaching security guy. “Thane, this is my friend

Johnny Boston. He came here with a girl. Pale white, blonde hair—what color eyes?”

“Blue-green,” I say.

“Regular princess, huh?”

“Sure.” I laugh. “The kind they lock in dungeons.”

Then I look at Thane and repeat the details of her clothing.