Total pages in book: 110
Estimated words: 107595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 107595 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 538(@200wpm)___ 430(@250wpm)___ 359(@300wpm)
Maybe once that all happened, she could get her life back on track. Until then, she could suck it up and serve some beer with a smile.
The last couple of days had dragged on way too fucking long. Judge spent time in the office during the day running the normal operations of Justice Bail Bonds while Deke sat on the Douglas house. At night, they’d switch. Deke would take the dogs back to The Barn and Judge would watch for Lange all night.
He missed his fucking bed. He missed sleep.
And he was getting crankier by the fucking second.
He needed to talk to Trip about using the two remaining prospects to help sit on the house. Even though they were in training at the pet crematorium, they should be the ones working long-ass hours instead of him. And anyway, he was fucking older. Sleep was important.
Those two prospects were both at the age where they could still party all night. Judge now struggled to party half a night.
He grunted.
Fuck, he was bored as hell doing a “stakeout,” looking for Cassidy Lange’s husband to pop his head up like a weasel.
Judge would gladly be the fucking mallet.
Easy and Shady wouldn’t be able take the man into custody, but Deke or Judge were only a text or call away. And he’d have to remind Shady not to slice the fucker’s throat first like he did up on the mountain to every inbred he stumbled upon when they were rescuing Autumn.
Judge wondered what the fuck was going on in that long-haired fucker’s head.
He shook his own.
He knew why Trip, Sig, Rook, and Cage were the way they were. But Shady? He had no idea what his past entailed. And Judge didn’t like that.
The rest of the members were pretty much an open book. That man, not so much.
Probably better not to know.
But those lower-than-dog-shit prospects could sit in a vehicle and keep an eye on the house because Judge’s eyes were getting fucking blurry.
He tipped his head back against his seat and sighed. Patience was not his strong-suit and sitting in his Expedition for hours sucked. This was why he usually handed off the skip-tracing and bail-jumpers to Deke. His cousin had a lot more patience than him.
He simply needed to keep that twenty percent in mind. More scratch in his and Deke’s pocket. That was the ultimate goal in all this.
Not getting a piece of Cassie Lange.
Though, she was a piece of pie he’d like to taste.
His eyes tipped down to Jury, who was curled up contently on the passenger seat. He usually didn’t bring her along, but he’d said fuck it tonight. He was missing his girl. He reached out and rubbed her warm ears, drawing a low groan from her, but she didn’t even bother to open her eyes.
Getting her was the best fucking decision ever.
With another sigh, he glanced up and his spine shot straight. Cassidy Lange wasn’t slinking out the front door this time. No, she strutted right out. Not one tear running down her cheek in sight. No PJ bottoms or slippers, either. The only thing he could see under that coat was jeans and some sort of boots with a slight heel.
She didn’t need much because the woman was fucking tall.
Which he liked.
A lot.
Just as much as the width of her hips.
He had also noticed the other day in the empty lot—because he made sure to look—she wasn’t wearing a wedding ring. Which he found curious.
He figured most married women liked to wear them.
His wife had.
Until she threw it at him. Along with a shitload of other things.
Mostly because he’d been a dumb fuck and deserved it.
But it wasn’t his ex-wife climbing into that piece-of-shit Honda. She was someone else’s.
At five-thirty in December, darkness closed in quickly, which made it easier for him to remain undetected where he was parked down the street. When she pulled away from the curb, so did he, again keeping a good distance.
This time she didn’t get lost. Fuck no. This time, with what looked like confidence, she turned down the alley that ran parallel to Third Street. He pulled past it, turned onto Third, drove past Crazy Pete’s, hooked a left and slowly drove past the alley again. But she was gone.
What the fuck?
He checked the rearview mirror, and, when he saw it was clear, he slammed on the brakes, shoved the Ford into reverse and shot backward until he once again was at the end of the alley.
He turned left and took a slow crawl along the narrow passageway between the buildings. There it was. The Honda. Parked behind Crazy Pete’s.
His brow dropped low. What the fuck?
Why the hell would she park behind Crazy Pete’s where Dodge, Trip and Stella parked? Why wouldn’t she park out on the street like the rest of the customers?