Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Roman shakes his dark head like he doesn't want anything to do with this, but he unlatches the holster at my hip before taking my gun out and handing it over to Santiago. Once the gun is out of play and the kid has no reason to get excited and shoot me, I tug the chain from around my neck, surrendering my shield, too.
"Tear this shithole apart and take everything," I tell Roman and Santiago before turning back to Hernandez. I ain't even mad at him. He's doing what he's got to do. The timing sucks, but it's not like I didn't know this was coming. I honestly expected it a few days ago.
"Let's get this shit show on the road," I mutter and jog down the steps, ignoring the curious stares of Roman's team, and then head for the LAPD squad car parked behind the SWAT van we used to roll up on Kaleo's crib.
The kid follows behind me, reaching for his handcuffs.
"If you think you're putting those on me, you're going to be sorely disappointed," I tell him before popping open the door to his patrol unit and climbing into the backseat. "I'm into the kinky shit, but not with you, dude. My girl is the only one who gets to tie my sexy ass up."
Laughter ripples around the yard. Carrot Top's face turns red. He mutters something under his breath but drops his hand from his duty belt, leaving the handcuffs where they are.
"I'll call Ames," Roman calls out to me before Carrot Top slams the door closed.
"You know," I muse, looking around once he climbs in the driver's side, "I figured I'd see the cage from this side of the zoo long before now." I've seen more than my fair share of squad cars, but somehow, I've never actually had the displeasure of riding in the back.
"Maybe you shouldn't talk," he says, making it sound more like a question than a statement.
"Settle down. I'm not saying I did it," I mutter, even though I did actually do the shit I'm being hauled in to discuss. "I'm just saying, I grew up poor, leading an MC. I expected to see the back of a police car a long time ago."
Had it not been for January, I'm sure I probably would have, but I kept my nose as clean as possible so I wouldn't disappoint her or have to leave her. Not that it mattered much in the long run since I'm pretty sure I managed to destroy us both, but I tried like hell to make her proud of me.
"You from around here?" I ask the kid. "Shit. I don't even know your name."
"Alex Stanton. Officer Stanton."
"Officer Stanton, you from around here?" I tip my head back against the seat and close my eyes as we make our way through the neighborhood, headed toward the local precinct with Hernandez following behind in an unmarked Tahoe. It's barely after noon, but it feels later. We've been sifting through Kaleo's house for the last hour. He's no cleaner now than he was back then. The fucker still lives like a pig. No pun intended.
"I grew up in West Hills."
"Damn," I chuckle, not surprised Stanton grew up where boys like him are the right kind of white…the kind that has money in the bank and parents with connections. "How'd you get assigned to this beat?"
He shrugs instead of answering.
"No offense, but this neighborhood is going to eat you alive," I mutter, shaking my head.
"Like it did you?" he asks.
Is that what happened to me? Maybe. Maybe that's what always happens to kids in places like this. We're all paddling the same goddamn boat around here.
"Nah," I decide, kicking my feet up on the bench seat and getting comfortable. I'm too tired to function, but I don't think sleep is in my immediate future. Call me crazy, but I don't think LAPD would be cool with me asking for a nap break like this is kindergarten and I'm tired of playing with the other kids. "This neighborhood didn't chew me up and spit me out. It's still choking on my fucking bones."
The kid snorts like he thinks I'm being funny, but I'm not. I may have fled seven years ago, but I never really left. Mentally and emotionally, I've been here the whole damn time, trapped like every other motherfucker inside the invisible lines that make up South Central. It just took me a little longer than most to figure that shit out. It took me a little bit longer to come to terms with it. Funny thing though…I don't regret being stuck here. So long as January is here, I'll never regret it.
By the time we get to the station fifteen minutes later, I've decided the kid isn't half bad. He's still too fucking green to be working this neighborhood, but he has a good head on his shoulders. The job will probably grind that ambition and positive attitude right out of him, but in another life, I could have been just like the poor son of a bitch. If, you know, I wasn't a murderer and worse.