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)
"You always were a snitching ass motherfucker," he sneers as I shove him into the back of an LAPD squad car.
"And you always talked too goddamn much for someone with stank ass breath," I shoot back, banging his head against the door.
He swears loudly and then ducks.
I give him a shove, making him pitch forward into the backseat.
He curses me again and shimmies his way into a sitting position. He shoots me a glare, but I just waggle my fingers at him, flip him off, and then slam the door closed, not in the mood to have him breathing his funky ass breath all over me any longer.
Once he's situated in his ride to the jail, I glance up to find Officer Hollis, the same officer who responded to January's the night Joey tried to break in, watching me. The mixture of amusement and concern on his face sets my teeth on edge.
Pain whispers through me at the thought of January. I haven't seen her since she stormed out two days ago. I'm ready to snap. She had the right to demand answers, but I couldn't fucking give them to her. Once I do, I know I'll never see her again. But I'm damned if I do and damned if I don't. Either way, it just fucking sucks for me because I end up without her. Again.
"You sure you don't want to get that checked out?" Hollis asks, nodding his head at the small cut on the side of my neck.
I lift my hand and prod at it, but it's not deep and isn't even bleeding anymore. Dante never was particularly good at much. Not gonna lie, though; I'm mad as hell he tried to stab me. Had I been a little slower, I'd probably be bleeding out in the street right now instead of hauling his ass off to jail for aggravated assault on a police officer and a host of other charges he won't be walking away from anytime soon.
He'll be in good company. I've already hooked up six of his friends on drug trafficking and weapons charges since January kicked me to the curb. Kaleo is currently losing his mind, which is working out great for me. Seeing that motherfucker foaming at the mouth and shitting himself is all kinds of fun.
"Nah, I'm cool," I mutter and peer down at my phone. "We good here? I got things to do."
"We're good. If we need anything else, we'll call you." Hollis pauses. "You plan on taking out all of Kaleo's people on your own?"
I shrug noncommittally, not sure exactly how far I'm going to go. Maybe I will take them all out on my own before going for Kaleo's throat. I haven't decided yet. I'm winging this shit, just like I do every other goddamn thing I most definitely should not wing. But hey, it's doing wonders for my disposition, so whatever.
Hollis shakes his head before opening the driver's door on his patrol unit. "See you on the next one, I guess."
"Yep." I glance at Dante again to see him scowling at me, his fucked-up teeth on full display. "Toothpaste," I mouth at him and then mimic brushing my teeth. "Gets rid of the ass stench."
"Fuck you, Kincaid!" he yells as Hollis pulls away from the curb.
I shake my head as Dante starts acting a fool, throwing himself around in the backseat like he's having a seizure. I'd bet my left nut he's never had a seizure in his life. He's got jailitis, the same shit motherfuckers like him always get when they find themselves in the back of a squad car en route to a lifetime of three hots and a cot. Hollis will probably have to take his stupid ass to the hospital before the jail will take him. Either way, he'll end up in the same damn place: precisely where he deserves to be.
My phone rings. I pull it out of my pocket and then sigh when I see it's Ames calling. I swear, the man knows when I'm up to some shit I don't want to talk about. He tracks me down every single time. He's like a bloodhound, only worse. Bloodhounds don't talk or ask about your feelings.
"What's up, boss man?" I ask, putting the phone to my ear as I make my way down the street to my bike.
"Tristan and Lillian are flying home in the morning," he says.
"Fucking finally. What time?"
"Flight leaves at ten."
"You going back too?"
"Yeah."
Well, shit. That's going to make my life more difficult, considering he's the only motherfucker at the DEA I'm willing to deal with.
"I'll be there," I tell him.
Ames doesn't say anything, which makes me groan.
"Go ahead and say whatever you're thinking about saying," I mutter, trying to hurry him along. "I got all kinds of shit to do."