Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68831 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Rick answered the phone, and I let out a hard sigh at the sound of his voice. “It’s me. I need your help. Something’s happened.”
Lance spoke in the background, and Rick told him to wait a fucking second, then asked me what was going on. I wrapped my hands around the Phantom’s steering wheel and glanced down at the dash. Lifting my foot off the gas, I forced myself to slow down. “I need you or Lance—one of you—to meet me.” My voice warbled a bit and I clamped down on the sentence, not yet ready to continue, not if I was about to start blubbering into the phone.
“What’s wrong?”
“Nothing.” Talk about the biggest lie I’d ever told. I amended the words. “I mean, a lot has happened. I—” I couldn’t go into all of it. “I need some help getting out of town.”
Rick interrupted, telling me to meet him at a used car dealership over on First. He promised to be there in ten minutes and hung up without asking any more questions. I had been right. They wouldn’t hesitate to protect me.
My phone chirped and I risked a glance off the road. It was a text from Dario.
--Call 255-432-1673 when you are safe and on the way to the airport. Do what he says.
He? Who was he, and what would he have me do?
I spotted the car dealership and pulled into the back, parking next to a new Lexus. There, hidden in the shadows, I put my phone in my lap, knotted my hands together, and waited.
Fuck.
“This is a giant pile of shit.” Lance tossed over the words while driving, his H1 rattling along the interstate and taking us out of Vegas. I slumped in the passenger seat and said nothing. Rick, who had taken the backseat, grunted in agreement, his head down, eyes on the navigation of his phone.
It hadn’t taken long to catch them up on things. Granted, I hadn’t told them everything. I had left out Gwen and Dario’s history and the reason for their marriage, but they already knew of her father. Hell, they were the ones who had warned me about him to begin with, which was why they were so angry. I wasn’t sure who they were more pissed at, Dario or me.
I should have listened to them then. I could have gotten out before my heart took ahold of my head and dragged me into this mess. If I had, Gwen would still be alive and I wouldn’t be rattling down the highway at one in the morning, heading for a tiny airstrip in the middle of the desert, following the directions of some wahoo named Laurent.
Laurent had been the one who answered the number Dario had texted me. Laurent. The name sounded like some sort of knight, but the drawl had matched the one Dario had produced … Cajun.
“I’m telling you, this guy is going to take you into some backwoods cabin and make soup from your hair.”
Rick snorted. “Or surround you with pet pigs and make you their queen.”
“You’re not helping,” I growled at them both but couldn’t help the tiny smile that forced its way out. The man had sounded uncivilized, especially with the accent. But if Dario trusted him, I would too.
Though Dario—the man who had yelled at me to get the fuck out—hadn’t been anything like the man I’d fallen in love with. He’d been a cold, pissed off, blood-covered, stranger.
Then again, he’d just lost his wife. He’d lost his best friend. He’d dropped to his knees and crawled across the floor toward her. I’d been jealous, watching him. How fucked up was that? I’d watched him break into pieces, and I’d been jealous. I’d thought about us, and what this meant to our relationship. I didn’t think about her, or the fact that a woman had just died. I only thought of myself. I flicked my eyes to the road and wondered, if I opened the door and flung myself out, if it would kill me. Not that I had the guts to do it.
“I don’t get why he told the police you were dead.” Rain started to crackle against the windshield and Lance turned on the Hummer’s wipers.
Rick tapped his shoulder. “Turn left at the next road. He told them so whoever ordered the hit would get word it was successful.”
“Ordered the hit? This isn’t a fucking movie, Rick.”
“You got better terminology? That’s what it was.”
“Unless Hawk killed her himself. Though you’d think he’d recognized his own daughter.”
I mumbled at them to both shut up and curled my knees to my chest. Rick was probably right. Which meant that Dario suspected someone in the police department was working for Hawk, or whoever else was the mastermind behind all of this. I remembered our oceanfront dinner, the way he’d lowered his voice when he told me about Gwen’s father. Hawk has zero accountability for his actions and half the police force is in his pocket.