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)
Before they know what’s happening, I have a tight grip on the driver’s hair, and I wrap it around my knuckles. “What the fuck?” I ask and slam his face on the steering wheel, “do you want?” I slam it again, and blood splatters across the dashboard.
“Let him go, pendejo.”
“Nah, I’m good,” I say, mocking his earlier words as I pull out my own gun and press it against the driver’s temple. “Stay in the fucking car, or you’ll be wearing his brains.”
“Stay,” he shouts the order over me. “Stay, goddammit.”
I slam his face into the wheel with a sickening crunch. The driver howls defiantly, but his words are drowned out by the sound of my own pounding heart.
“You want a piece of me? Come and fucking get it!” I snarl, daring them to try me. With every ounce of willpower, I resist the temptation to unleash my full wrath upon these fools.
My grip tightens, and I slam his face against the wheel a few more times, relishing the satisfying crunch of bone on metal.
“Now get your sorry ass out of here before I blow your fuckin’ brains out!” Rage courses through me, so strong that I have to fight the urge to kill them all right here and now.
But Lucky would kill me if I did anything illegal on Morgan International property, and then Aria would bring me back to life just to kill me again. So I release the driver and step back, keeping my gun aimed at him just in case these sons of bitches try anything funny.
They peel out of the parking lot so damn fast they leave burning rubber in their wake. Damn cowards.
As soon as they’re out of sight, I get on my bike and catch up to them, keeping four cars between us just to make sure they don’t spot me. I stay back, taking note of every stop to drop off his friends in the same four or five-block area. When the car turns into the driveway of a big two-story house on a cul-de-sac, I stay even further back because there are no cars, no traffic.
Loud music blares from the house, and lights are on in every window, a sign of a lot of activity. I park my bike behind a row of bushes where I can watch the house.
For almost an hour, I sit there and watch as people come and go. You can spot the Johns right away, and not just because of the women passing by the windows in colorful lingerie. The men paying for pussy stay a while, but the drug dealers—or addicts—only stop for a few minutes at a time, a sure sign they’re picking something up.
When the traffic to the house finally dies down, I creep closer, going around the back of the house next door to see if I can get a look inside. There’s a room with two guys sitting around a table. They’re counting money while another huge dude guards the door. I can’t believe these guys have their blinds open. They must feel pretty safe over here.
There’s no sign of Cassidy anywhere, dammit. I know she’s around here somewhere. She has to be.
I head back to my bike just as the asshole with the fucked up face gets back into the red car.
I know what I have to do, so I text Lucky to let him know what’s going down.
Man, I’m about to follow this mofo.
I follow him, this time leaving only two cars between us. I’m not letting this motherfucker out of my sight. Every turn he makes, I make until there are no cars between us. He doesn’t notice me behind him when he stops at the curb or when he jogs up the steps to a small cottage between two ranch-style houses.
I’m right on his heels, and I bum-rush him as soon as he unlocks the door, shoving him inside and kicking the door shut. “What the fuck, man? Oh. You.”
I smile and pin him against the wall with my forearm across his throat. “Where the fuck is she?”
He grunts and tries for his piece, but I’m bigger and stronger. “Who?” I shove my forearm harder onto his throat, and his eyes go wide.
“Where the fuck is she?” I ask again.
“Don’t know who you’re talking about,” he says with a sneer.
“Fuck this.” I pull out my gun and shove it in his mouth. “Tell me where the fuck she is.”
“I don’t know,” he mumbles around the gun.
I knew he’d say that. “I don’t believe you.”
He shrugs. “Fuck you.”
“You’re right,” I tell him and loosen my grip. He relaxes, and I stand tall again. “Too bad,” I say and pull the trigger. The warm spray of blood splashes on my face as his body slumps to the ground.
I kick him off my feet and take a quick look around the house just in case Cassidy is here or has been here.