Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64662 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 216(@300wpm)
I spend the entire drive back to Angel Harbor torturing myself, wondering what they’re doing to Cassidy, how she’s holding up, and most of all, if she’s figured out her current predicament is all my fucking fault.
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
Cassidy
The door opens, and I go completely still. The hood is gone, but the plastic ties around my wrists are so tight I can’t feel my fingers anymore.
The sun shines behind the guy who is much slimmer than Tiny, and when I look up, I see a shock of white-blond hair, obviously dyed based on his black brows. “Come on, sweetheart. It’s okay.”
I don’t let the gentle voice fool me because I’m not a fucking idiot, but also because this guy is such a bad guy that he can’t even pretend to be a good guy. Still, he’s offering me time out of the box, which is how I’ve started referring to the closet. I struggle to my feet and follow him out. Maybe this time, I’ll get a better chance to escape. If not, I’ll at least have the beginning of a plan.
“Who are you?” I ask though I know it’s Ghost from the sound of his voice.
“You don’t have to worry about that,” he says before droning on and on about something.
I’m not really sure what the fuck he’s talking about. I know I should be listening, but I’m exhausted. I sleep no more than twenty or thirty minutes at a time. I’m tired, and my mind is too foggy to think straight. A big fucking problem with a guy like Chatty Cathy over here.
“Okay, so what do you want?”
He leads me down a hall where I pass a bathroom and an empty room that might be a bedroom if it had any furniture. Straight ahead, there’s a door that leads outside. The main door is open, just a screen door between me and freedom.
“What I want is answers.” He opens the door and nods to a room to the right.
I step inside hesitantly, scanning the room to find we’re alone. “Answers to what?” I turn so my back is against the wall and face him.
“How long have you been working for Morgan International?”
“Is this a joke?” I laugh and shake my head. “Probably never, thanks to you and your buffoons. That was my first job working with them, and I didn’t get to deliver the load, so, yeah, thanks for that.”
“Don’t lie to me, sweetheart.” The threat is clear. “It won’t work out well for you.”
I nod to let him know that I understand, nibbling my lips because what the fuck is going on? My head is swimming, and his questions make no sense. Why the fuck does he care about a shipping company?
“I’m not lying.”
“What do you know about the Reckless Souls?”
My brows knit into a frown, and it takes me a minute to process his question. “The Reckless Souls? The motorcycle club?”
He nods. “No, the fucking jazz band.”
“I don’t know anything about them, honestly. I met a few of them in Angel Harbor while I was waiting on my truck, but not enough to say I know them.”
He laughs, closing the gap between us until he looms over me. I can tell he’s working hard to appear intimidating. “What were you shipping for Morgan International?”
“No clue. I picked up the trailer already sealed.”
His hand comes from nowhere in a perfect backhand arc across my face. “Don’t. Fucking. Lie. To. Me.”
“Fuck,” I grunt. “That hurt.”
“That’s nothing compared to what I’ll do to you if you lie to me again. I know you know them, and I know you’re fucking one of them. Tell me the fucking truth. Or else.”
Maybe that smack cleared the fog from my brain because it’s all starting to make sense to me. None of the questions are about me. They’re about the shipment, Morgan International, and me fucking Diesel.
“Look, I don’t know who you think I am, but I promise you have it all twisted around. I don’t work for Morgan International, and I don’t know anything about the Reckless Souls. This was my first job for Morgan, and I spent a few hours partying with a biker dude and his friends. That’s it.”
I can already tell he doesn’t like that answer, and I brace myself for the next hit.
“Tiny! Get your fat ass in here.”
“Look, my truck broke down, and they directed me to Morgan International, where I met Diesel, who fixed it. We hung out while waiting for the parts to come in, and then I got back on the road where you stopped me.”
Tiny appears, looking as menacing as ever with a blank expression on his face. “Yeah, Boss?”
“She’s not cooperating,” Boss says, nodding in my direction.
“All right.” Tiny’s voice is quiet as he steps inside, removing a long canvas roll from under his arm. He unrolls it across a table against the wall. “Teeth or fingernails first?”