Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Everything was shut down and inconspicuous in the daylight. If you didn’t know better, you would just assume it was one of a few abandoned warehouses in the general area.
I did see a couple of those fucks who ran the club moving in after, I assumed judging by the bags in their hands, had gone out to get lunch.
I was just thinking of heading out to go grab some damn binoculars because I didn’t anticipate having to park so far back from the club to not be noticed when, suddenly, about half a dozen black sedans with blackout windows came rushing down the street, parking blocking the entire area off to traffic.
I watched, stomach tensing, as all the doors of those cars opened up, and no fewer than twenty men dressed all in black came out of the cars.
The sun was high in the sky, bouncing off the metal of their guns as they casually circled the building.
The fuck?
What the fuck was I about to be a witness to?
Even as I reached toward the gear shift, ready to back my ass out of there, though, there was a tap on my driver’s window.
I saw the gun that had done the tapping first.
Then the man holding it.
A tall, fit, Asian man in another of those all-black outfits.
My hand shot out toward my passenger seat where I had a gun stashed under my bag full of food.
But it was then that I heard another tap.
Another gun.
Another man.
One look in the rearview dashed any hopes that I could just throw it into reverse and floor it the fuck out of this clusterfuck of a situation.
I sat there, not sure what the fuck my next move was, what was going on, and why I was suddenly a part of it.
I heard no gunshots.
But this was a warehouse outfitted as an illegal club. I imagined there was some decent soundproofing going on inside. And I was as far away as I could be while keeping the building in sight.
I sat there, pulse pounding, keeping the guys in my peripheral vision. Which was how I saw when one of them reached for his phone, pulling it to his ear, and listening before tucking it away again.
Then he nodded to his counterparts, and he was tapping the muzzle of his gun on my window once again.
When I looked over, he jerked his head in a way that suggested I open my door.
I didn’t really have a choice in the matter.
Maybe I could have tried to shoot it out with these three guys.
But not the five or six others that were already standing outside of the warehouse.
On a sigh, I cut the engine, then opened the door, reminding myself that I had an ankle holster. If I bided my time, I could still try to get out of this.
Take down one of these guys, use their gun, take out more.
It wasn’t a great plan.
But it was all I had.
There just wasn’t an opening before being led into the building.
Where I found bodies scattered all around, blood blooming through the fabric of their shirts, heads all but exploded with bullets, their limbs landed in odd angles as they died before they even hit the floor.
“Christ,” I hissed, looking around.
They were everywhere.
Most didn’t even seem like they’d been able to draw their own weapons before they were picked off.
“Go,” the guy behind me said, tapping me with the gun, but not keeping it pressed into me.
If they were going to kill me, I figured I’d be dead as all these Neo-Nazis already.
So I followed the guys past all the bodies, down a hall with another set of bodies, and then into an office space.
There, sitting at the desk, eating the food I’d seen the dead guys bring in just a few minutes before, was, it seemed, the leader of this crew.
Whoever this guy was, he was dark-haired, dark-eyed, and clearly spent a fuckuva lot of time in the gym, judging by the way his chest and abdominal muscles were visible through his black tee.
“You,” he said, nodding at me as his men backed out of the room, but stayed right outside the doorway.
“The fuck am I doing here?” I asked, sounding bored and inconvenienced, not worried. Because the longer I was in this building, the less I felt I had a reason to worry.
“That’s the question,” he agreed, nodding. “I think it must have something to do with the woman who gave me this,” he said, reaching into his pocket to reveal a recording device, placing it on the table beside a pile of fries he hadn’t touched yet.
“You’re Rynn’s client,” I said, the pieces falling together.
Rynn likely had given him the device while I was heading back to Golden Glades. He’d listened, decided to take action, and just so happened to do so while I was looking for Rynn’s attacker.