Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Stiles asks for confirmation. “You know them?” she asks coldly, but my gaze is still on the photos and the unknown third victim. “Because they seem to know you,” she says and points to the only clothing in sight, two leather kuttes with the Reckless Souls emblems on them.
I can’t answer. I am totally fucking unable to tear my eyes away from the images before me. Still, it’s not the dead bodies—mostly—it’s what’s on them. It’s familiar to me, and I wish like hell it wasn’t, but it makes sense now, Stiles’ presence in the shop.
“The numbers,” I say and point to the number one carved on the female’s stomach, trying hard to ignore the two carved into Jordi’s stomach and the three in Devon’s.
“You know them?” she asks with wide eyes. That excitement comes back, and she takes a step forward.
“No,” I say and shake off the memories that still plague me once in a while. “But I know of ’em.”
Her smile is gleeful, almost satisfied, as if she’s caught us in a lie. “How?”
“Yeah, how?” Ace asks.
I scrub one hand over my face and then the other, trying to unsee those dead bodies, the first my young eyes had ever seen up close and personal. I inhale deeply and let it out as slowly as I can, the way the school counselor recommended after that day.
“When I was a kid, there was this house right across the street from mine. I just thought it was a party house, but it was more than that. The guys that hung out in front sold drugs. People went in and out all day and night. Sometimes there would be girls of all ages. Some were never seen again.”
I remember my Tia telling me those guys were no good. They were the work of the devil, she’d said and warned me to stay away. And I had.
I breathed in a deep breath and continued with my story. “One day, my friends and I were hanging out on the street, and that house was quiet, suspiciously quiet, given everything. My buddy Ernesto dared me.
“I’ll give you ten bucks if you go into the house,” he said, thinking I was too chickenshit.
I made him give me five up front, and I opened the front door. It wasn’t locked. Inside, I found all seven of the guys dead with a happy face slit from ear to ear. And their bellies exposed with the numbers one through seven carved into them.”
“What the fuck?” Dix says, his tone full of shock and horror.
“Yeah,” I laugh. “I didn’t even scream for a long time. Hell, I didn’t realize they were humans at first. Never seen a body carved up like that, parts of it without any flesh on it. On the wall were three words, Los Tres Colombianos.”
“That’s it?” Stiles asks, her voice practically screeching. “You remember this from childhood?”
I let out a bitter laugh. “It’s not something a kid is likely to forget, lady. Sorry, my childhood trauma ain’t exciting enough for you.”
At least, she has the good sense to look apologetic. “You or anyone in your MC has never dealt with LTC before?”
Ace folds his hands and stands in front of me protectively. “Never heard of ’em until just now, but we’ll be looking into it,” he tells her.
“Don’t do that,” she instructs. “That’s my job, and I am far better equipped and armed to deal with LTC than your club.”
Ace laughs. “You do your job, lady, and I’ll do mine.” The threat in his tone tells me that our lives have just gotten even more complicated. Ace plans to find LTC and figure out why the fuck they murdered Devon and Jordi.
And the woman.
“Any idea who the woman is?” Ace asks.
Stiles nods. “Havana Secada, Jordi’s sister.”
“Shit.” I smack the top photo angrily and storm out of the shop, angry at the world, at the LTC, and still angry as fuck with the Iron Kings, who I’m sure have something to do with those three murders.
Chapter Fifteen
Willow
The day at the bakery passes at a glacial pace, or maybe I’m just dragging my ass from a night full of orgasms. I don’t know for sure, but what I do know is that if I don’t do something normal, I’m going to keel over right into the bread dough.
“Hey, Kenna,” I say as if my next question is totally out of the blue.
She looks up from the specials board she’s writing and takes a step back to stare at her work before turning to me.
“What’s up, Willow?”
“I have a personal question, and it’s super personal. I’m not prying, but if it feels like I am, then just say the word, and I’ll shut the hell up.”
“Enough preamble,” she laughs and motions to me. “Ask your damn question.”
“How did you deal with the aftermath of Grace’s murder?”