Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 77598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77598 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 388(@200wpm)___ 310(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I turned, arms raised, watching the mix of emotions run across their faces. Some, surprise. Others, fear. One, nothing. There was my leader.
“You guys hear of Hailstorm?” I asked, raising my voice to reach across the street.
“Yeah,” the one I pegged as the leader answered, jerking his chin up and keeping eye contact. Cool as a freaking cucumber. He was a good choice for leadership.
“My name is Lo and if you step one mother fucking foot on this property, I will round up some of my men, come into your little... headquarters,” I said, giving their dilapidated building a nod, “and personally chop off all of your dicks. You've heard my name?” I asked, seeing another small chin jerk. “Then you know I am perfectly fucking capable of following through with that threat. So, we cool?” I asked, keeping eye contact.
“Bitch, we cool,” he said, giving me a small smile that might have been charming if he wasn't a heroin dealer and pimp. “Ain't gonna step a foot on your property.”
“Good,” I said, lowering the guns and stalking back to my car. It was a risky move to threaten a gang, alone, female. It could have gone a completely different way. But fact of the matter was, I couldn't bring my men into my safe house. That was a part of my life they didn't belong in. So I either needed to be up front with the local bad guys, or shrink away and find another place to crash.
I was always the type to nut-up, so that was what I did.
I threw the guns back into the trunk, got in the car, and drove the rest of the way toward the house.
Calling it a 'house' may have been generous. It was really no bigger than a large shed, made of crumbling white stucco and a peeling black roof. The windows had been barred before I moved in and I added a security door for extra peace of mind. All in all, it was locked down tight. Last time I had been there, I had connected a light to a timer and kept the power, water, and heat going despite never even visiting to see if the place was still standing.
I reached under my shirt, digging out the chain that held the only two keys I ever needed- one to a safety deposit box where I kept all my other keys, and the one to my old safe house.
I locked the car, despite knowing that it would do me no good in a neighborhood where there was a chance my tires, stereo, and transmission could be missing by morning, and made my way up the gravel walk.
I slipped the key into the lock, feeling a mix of emotions flood through my system. First, there was the nostalgia, the feeling of comfort, familiarity, especially knowing that literally every last thing inside would be as I had left it. Second, though, there was a weird uncertainty that had my stomach rolling so fast that I felt queasy. Pushing past it, I pressed the door open and reached inside for the light switch beside the door. I flicked and nothing happened.
The swirling in my stomach intensified as I took a step in, reaching for my cell to brighten my way to another light source. I swiped through my apps, looking for the flashlight as I kicked closed the front door.
But then something happened.
A light flicked on across the room.
The swirling feeling in my stomach turned into a plummeting sensation.
“Hey, Willow,” a voice called. My phone fell and I turned to run.
Five
Cash
“Point me in a direction, Prez,” Repo said, fists clenched down by his sides. He had bulked up since he was patched-in, but was never a weakling to begin with. He kept his past locked down tight, but there was a darkness in his deep blue eyes and a scar that ran down the entire side of his cheek, cutting off at the sharp jut of his jaw. He'd seen some shit, done some shit before we even laid eyes on him. Match that with the fact that he had been beat to a pulp to try to save Summer once and then got up off his sick bed to come in, guns blazing, and help the rest of us get her out? Yeah, he was one of Reign's favorites.
“Don't have a direction to point you in yet, Repo,” Reign said, taking a stool and shrugging his shoulders. “All I know is someone is puffing their chest. To hit us? That's personal. To hit us and, say, the Russians? That's about trying to take the gun trade in the area. But to hit us, Hailstorm, Lyon, the Mallicks, and Lex? That ain't nothing but a show of power, telling us all to watch our backs. Ain't none of us have anything in common.”
“Hailstorm helped us,” Vin, an older member of the club, back from the days when our father ran shit, chimed in. “They helped you get Summer back. So did Lyon. And the Mallicks? Shane told us about that rat we had in the club.”
Good points, all.
“But we have never gone anywhere near that fuckwad Lex,” Reign said, looking up with his piercing light green eyes. “We haven't made any kind of stand against him, but I think it's pretty clear we want nothing to do with that rapist asshole.”
Also a good point.
We had been in church for almost an hour and we had gotten nowhere. I imagined the Mallicks and Lyon and Hailstorm all having similarly fruitless meetings, a thought that made me feel marginally better.
“We need to reach out,” I said, biting the inside my cheek and reaching for the bottle of whiskey and pouring a round. “I'll take Repo and go see the Mallicks. You can grab Summer and go see Lyon. I've already talked to Lo, but I will check in again.”
“Who the fuck you wanna send to check in with Lex?” Reign asked, a cruel little smile on his lips.