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)
The kid doesn't say anything.
"What's your name? Your real name this time, not some bullshit you think up on the fly. You suck at that, so don't bother pissing me off by trying," I warn him when he opens his mouth.
"Trey Carver," he mumbles, holding the sleeve of his hoodie to his nose.
"Trey, you live around here?" I take pity on the kid and scoop up my bag before grabbing a T-shirt. I toss the shirt to him so he can deal with the blood pouring from his nose, and then throw my bag inside the house and pull the door closed.
"A few blocks over."
I grunt and drag my phone out of my pocket to call the kid an ambulance. They can deal with his nose before he goes to jail, because he's definitely headed there tonight. I learned a long time ago that jail is the only thing that gets through to these kids.
They think they're big and hard and untouchable, that guys like Kaleo will have their backs, and no one will step to them. They learn quick that shit doesn't work that way in juvie and jail. There's always someone bigger and badder willing to teach them that lesson.
Sometimes, it's enough to scare them straight.
Most of the time, it's not.
Too damn many kids like Trey get off on the fear they cause. They like the money the drugs bring in. They love the pussy thrown their way. There are a thousand reasons why kids like Trey turn into guys like Curtis Kaleo. I've seen them all, and at the end of the day, it's all bullshit. They're little boys playing at being men when they have no clue how to be either.
But you can't save someone who doesn't want to be saved. I stopped trying a long damn time ago. It's my job to keep people like January safe from those who don't get their heads out of their asses and wise up before they cross a line they can't come back from. No more and no less.
"Who are you?" Trey asks me once I put the phone away.
Who am I? Like I told him, I'm his worst fucking nightmare. I eat kids like him alive. For the last seven years, I've chewed up and spit out enough gangs, cartels, and MCs to make guys like Kaleo shit their shorts. When I'm around, they walk softly and carry a really fucking big stick.
Those who don't? Well, they learn quickly that I'm not someone you mess with. They may think they rule the streets, but they all answer to me.
"Why were you at January's?" I ask instead of telling the kid that.
"I wasn't going to do nothing," he says, the same shit he's already told me. "I was just going to scare her a little."
"For Kaleo?"
He averts his gaze, which is all the answer I need.
"Why does he want this block?" I curse when he doesn't answer me. "Are you really going to take the fall for some stupid son of a bitch who won't spend two seconds thinking about you once you're hauled out of here? Kaleo doesn't give a fuck about you, Trey. You're just another lapdog for him to use. As soon as you're gone, he'll have someone else to take your place."
"He'll kill me if I talk," he mumbles.
"Not if he doesn't know. Do I look like I run my mouth?"
Trey thinks about that for a minute and then answers my question. "Don't know what he wants," he says with a shrug. "Says this should be his territory, and it's time for him to take it."
"You believe him?"
He shrugs.
"He's wrong," I mutter as a squad car pulls up on the curb, take-down lights flashing through the dark. "This is my fucking territory. When you get out, you tell him Michael Kincaid is coming for him. And tell him to stay the fuck away from January. You got that?"
Trey nods, his eyes wide and his mouth hanging open. "You're Michael Kincaid?"
"Yep," I confirm and then pin him with a hard glare as an officer hauls himself out of his cruiser. "Don't even think about moving from that spot."
"Okay," the kid whispers.
"Agent Kincaid?" the LAPD officer calls out, jogging up the sidewalk toward me.
"That's me." I fish my badge out of my pocket and flash it at him, meeting him halfway down the sidewalk.
"He's a Fed?" Trey says behind me, his voice high-pitched.
Yeah, you little shit. I'm a fucking Fed, and the girl next door belongs to me. Told you I was your worst goddamn nightmare.
"What do you have?" the officer asks, glancing between me and the kid.
I quickly fill him in on the situation and then pull Trey's shit out of my pocket. By the time I'm finished talking, another squad car and an ambulance roll up the street. The patrol officer takes the kid's stuff from me and then shakes his head.