Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79749 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 399(@200wpm)___ 319(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
"She's pretty upset with everything that happened," he says.
"Wouldn't you be if you went through the shit that woman has over these last couple of weeks?"
He considers this for a moment. If I wasn't looking right at him, I might've missed the way darkness and shadows settle into his eyes.
"You good?" I ask when it's clear his mind went somewhere else for a moment.
"I'm good. Did you hear about Ivan Reese?"
I stop dead in my tracks, the scar running down my left cheek seeming to tingle with just the mention of the man's name.
"What about him?" I ask.
I'm sure Jersey knows about my time with the Reese organization. He was also a part of ICE until the Gatlinburg, Tennessee chapter of the Cerberus MC was created. Ivan Reese was the focus of my first field case as an ICE agent, and I seriously fucked that one up. It left me with the daily reminder I see every morning in the mirror that getting tangled up with people while working a case could cost me my life. Damien Gaines didn't kill me that day like he was ordered. He insisted that I watch from the shadows as he got everything I ever wanted before dumping me on a back road.
The agency wouldn't let me go after him for what he did to me because the case they were working on, trying to take down the guns and drugs, was more important. I almost lost my life and my job that day. I've spent the last eight years working hard to prove it was a rookie mistake, and I could be a good agent.
That is until the opportunity with Cerberus came a few months ago. I peaced out of ICE so fast I left their heads spinning. I was tired of the oversight, politics, and bureaucracy. Cerberus seems like it's going to be a much better fit for me.
"He's dead," Jersey says, causing a rush of emotions and memories to hit me all at once.
I stare at him. Ivan Reese was always considered the head of the snake. He was the boss of a major crime family in Boston, and he ran his organization with a steel fist. I spent months on the inside and never learned enough to take him down. My superiors blame my lack of intel on getting mixed up with Aspen Reese. Although I argued it at the time, there's a good chance she had a lot to do with my inability to see the full picture because it might've meant she went down with her father.
"Heart attack?"
Jersey shakes his head, his smile widening as if he's gearing up to tell a tale more fitting for around a campfire than one blocking the coffee pot.
"Can you move?" I ask, needing to do something with my hands.
The news is a revelation, and it makes my mind spin with possibilities. That's no place for me to spend another minute, not with the vows I made.
"Rumor has it that it was an inside job. One of his men killed him in a hostile takeover sort of situation," Jersey explains.
"Damien Gaines," I mutter.
Jersey dips his head. "That's the word on the street. They suspect he was dead for a month before they discovered his body."
"Let me guess… on some back road, left for someone walking their damn dog to find?"
Jersey tilts his head. "So you have heard about it?"
I shake my head. "No, just really familiar with the MO. Is someone working a case to bring him in for murder?"
Jersey scoffs, and I knew the second the question left my lips, it was a stupid one. The danger the guns pose to police and innocent civilians, as well as the overdoses contributed to the fentanyl they believe he's responsible for smuggling into the United States, will always be their focus. The death of one bad guy by another bad guy wouldn't even raise suspicions if it weren't the leader of the organization.
"From what I hear, no one is talking. They don't want to end up like Reese."
"Understandable," I mutter, but it's not like there are many rats in that organization.
I had an in and I ruined it by falling for a girl who was no doubt playing me all along.
I pour my cup of coffee, thoughts I try to shove down still somehow invading my head. By the time I leave Jersey in the kitchen and head back to my room, my fingers are itching to get on my laptop.
I drink my coffee, letting the burn scald my tongue for the distraction it provides, but within minutes, the liquid is gone and I'm left with no other thought in my head than to check the email I gave to her all those years ago.
I don't know why there's a flash of hope inside of me that with her father's death, she'd want me back. She sat there while the man she claimed to hate, the man she was promised to marry, mangled my face. She didn't so much as gasp when I cried out in pain.