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)
The guy is lying still but clearly not dead, which is the first thing I notice. The second is his tattoos, specific to the Bloodthirsty Devils.
The minute he realizes he’s not alone, his eyes go wide, and he tries to sit up, wincing in pain. “What the fuck do you want?”
I smile and close the door, stalking toward him.
“I have a few questions, and then I’ll leave you be.”
“Bullshit,” he spits. “I don’t have shit to say to you, so get the fuck out.”
“I was hoping you’d say that,” I grin. “I’m glad you didn’t disappoint.” I scan the IV bag hanging over him, finding exactly what I’m looking for. We’ve had enough brothers shot up for me to recognize IV bags full of pain meds. “Tell me what happened on the side of the road.”
“Fuck you.”
“Who shot you?”
“Kiss my ass, motherfucker.”
I flash a grin and kink the plastic IV tube. “Okay, asshole, I just want some answers. How I get them is up to you.” I show him the tube, and his expression changes from smug asshole to fear. “Now, who shot you?”
“Fuck. You.” He manages the words through his pain, which might have impressed me if I wasn’t so desperate for information.
Two knocks sound on the door, and then a familiar voice. “I’m here. Took the driver fucking forever,” Dix grunts, sticking his head inside the room.
I nod toward him and then look back to the shithead in the bed. “You want to try this again?”
He looks away.
“Suit yourself,” I say, tearing the blankets from his body and lifting the hospital gown.
“You sure you don’t want to answer our questions?” Dix comes to the bed, trying for a friendly smile, but the motherfucker is too intimidating to fool anybody.
“Fuck you too,” says our patient.
Dix shrugs. “Do your worst, man.”
I smile at the man, letting my gaze slide down his body until it lands on the stark white bandages covering the center of his midsection. “Who shot you?”
He looks away.
“Okay.” I rip the white bandage from his body to see a disgusting red wound, still moist and shiny. I shove two fingers into the wound, twisting it while he howls in extreme pain. I cover his mouth so a gang of nurses won’t come running into his room. “Shut up and listen. Tell me what happened on the side of the 5 freeway, and I’ll make sure you get the help you need.”
This tactic has a slim chance of working, but I give him the chance anyway.
Tears stream from the corners of his wide eyes as the pain grips him. But even in his anguish, I can still see his determined defiance.
“Okay. How about this? If you don’t tell me what I want to know, then I will slowly but surely kill everyone you love. Starting with your blood relatives and working my way up to Ghost and all the other shit stains in your little gang. If you have a little sister, a mother, an aunt? Mine. A little brother? Two bullets in the head. Understood?”
He weighs his options in his mind, trying to figure out if I’m full of shit or just crazy enough to kill everyone who means anything to him.
“If you wait to find out who I really am, what I can do, it’ll be too fucking late. For everybody.” I give him a few seconds to process my words and decide before I move my hand. “Who shot you?”
“Some bitch driving a truck,” he spits out. “Ghost took her along with that Mexican prick he’s been hanging out with lately. Fucker is crazy as shit and not thinkin’ straight, but we gotta deal with him. For now, anyway.” He scoffs and then winces in pain. “Let that shit go, will you?” he nods toward the pain meds in the IV bag.
“Where’d they take her?”
“No fucking clue,” he growls. “I thought we were there to rob the truck, maybe have a little fun with the bitch, not get a big ass fucking hole in my gut.”
“Think harder.”
“Fuck, man, it could be anywhere. If Ghost is runnin’ shit, then she’s at one of our houses in L.A. If that other dude has her, she could be anywhere.”
That tracks. At least if BTD has her, then we have a pretty extensive list of their holdings, but the Latin Mafia? We’re still building intel on them. “Why did you take her?”
He shrugs. “Someone saw her over there and figured one of you must be bangin’ a hot piece of ass like that.”
His words are like a fucking punch to the gut, and I release the IV tube with a groan. Guilt consumes me at the idea that Cassidy is in the hands of those animals because of me. Because someone saw her and drew the wrong conclusion.
“What’s the plan with her?” Dix asks him when it becomes clear that my mind is someplace else.