Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
“Fifteen or I’m not coming down.”
“No, it depends on the condition. I’m not gonna make an offer until I see it. Bring it down here, and we’ll discuss.”
I blow out my breath. “Fine. I’ll be there by tonight. I can get it to the border, but I don’t know how to get it across.”
“I’ll worry about that. Come to Naco. I’ll text you an address.”
“Naco? Is that near Nogales?”
He makes a scoffing sound. “No, different crossing. Google-map that shit. Text me when you’re there.”
“Yep,” I say to a dead phone because he already hung up.
I try to shove the mounting sense of dread I have about this transaction. It will be all right. It will be all right. I can totally do this.
Bo
I work my ass off at the body shop, trying to finish up Winslow’s open jobs while fielding the third degree from my uncle, but all the time, I have this nagging feeling I need to get back to Cave Hills.
Make sure everything went straight for Sloane.
I really fucking hate the idea of her trying to fence a car on her own. It means she’d be dealing with dirtbags and considering the way she looks? She could be in the worst kind of danger there is.
And I’d fucking kill any thug who hurt her.
I pull out my phone to check to see if she’s texted.
She hasn’t.
I wonder where she is right now. What has her in such a bind that she needs to spend her birthday risking her freedom and her life for a heist.
And then I remember that tracking app I put on her phone. Did she notice? My thumb flies over my screen to pull it up, and then I hit the dot with her name on it.
There she is.
Fuck!
She’s on the highway, headed to Tucson.
I don’t like it.
I really don’t fucking like it.
I wipe my hands on a rag. “Hey, Uncle Greg. I gotta go.”
“What? Is it about Winslow?”
“Maybe. Yeah. I’m gonna find out. I’ll try to come in tomorrow, okay?”
My uncle swears, but he’s shaking his head, like he’s already written my help off. “Just stay out of trouble, Bo.”
“Yep. I will.”
That’s probably a lie.
I get on my bike because Winslow’s car would attract too much attention. Besides, I can go faster on the Triumph—weave between traffic if I need to.
I don’t know why getting to Sloane feels like such a goddamn emergency, but it does. I kick the bike to life and take off, not even taking the time to text my mom. I’ll let her know when I get there.
I ride fast, the wind rushing past me satisfying that need I had to let my wolf out to run.
Yes. Drive fast. Get to Sloan, he whispers.
And I obey. She didn’t ask for my help, but it looks like she’s getting it, whether she wants it or not.
Sloane
Naco, Arizona is a tiny border town past Sierra Vista. I get there before sunset and text Jorge.
He doesn’t answer right away, which makes me nervous as hell. I am so out of my element here, it’s not even funny. I end up parking behind a school and scrunching down in the seat to browse my Instagram.
It’s full of photos from Homecoming—Cave Hills kids looking glamorous as they play dress up. I’m tagged in a bunch.
There’s one of Bo and I that makes my heart double-pump. We’re on the dance floor and his arm around my back. He’s smiling down at me with this indulgent sort of amusement.
Because that’s when we were playing games.
I was horning him up rubbing my body all over his. Clearly he was enjoying it but had himself under control.
I’m not sure I’ve ever met a guy like him. He so damn cocky, and yet that confidence is completely deserved. He does have it all—good looks, athletic talent, charm. He’s definitely the alpha-hole they call him at his school—in charge and at large.
The buzz of a motorcycle nearby makes me sink lower in my seat, even though the windows are tinted. I’m definitely not blending in with this orange hot rod.
A tap at my window makes me scream, and then my heart somersaults.
Bo.
I roll down the window. “What are you doing here?”
“I followed you,” he says.
“Why?” I push open the door and climb out, my body stiff from the long drive.
“I told you—white on rice.”
“You told me glue. And I told you to stay out of this. Bo, you definitely don’t want to be here for this.”
He shrugs. He’s back to surly Bo, looking kind of pissed off to be here, but maybe that’s because he rode a motorcycle for four hours to follow me.
Not my fault.
“I’m here. What’s the plan?”
Despite my protest, I’m beyond relieved to have Bo with me. I was scared shitless about what comes next.
“I’m waiting for a text telling me where to bring it.”