Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 69155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69155 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 346(@200wpm)___ 277(@250wpm)___ 231(@300wpm)
I turn back to the front of the treadmill and start jogging again, shoving my earphones angrily into my ears before I say something I’ll regret.
I finish my workout, avoiding any room Kendric is in, and then go to the locker room to shower and get changed for my long ass day at work. I’ve just finished showering and have put my pants and bra on when the door opens and Kendric walks in, sweaty and panting, looking so damned good I find it very hard not to stare at him. I don’t, though, I just keep dressing myself.
“You fall when you were drunk?”
I look to him, confused. “What?”
“Did you fall when you were drunk?”
“I don’t ...”
He points, and I look down to see a green bruise by my ribs. I didn’t realize it was there, but I know right away what it’s from. Reece. I quickly pull my shirt over my head and shrug. “Probably.”
“I didn’t see you fall,” he murmurs, wiping the towel over his face in a way that makes him look so god damned sexy. I wish he’d stop doing that, like right now.
“Well, I probably did.”
“Looks like finger marks. Someone hurt you? Was it that fuckin’ douchebag who came past when I was there? You got a problem, you call the club and we’ll sort it out.”
“Oh, really?” I mutter, jerking my shirt down as if tugging it will stretch it ever further over my body to cover the scars I hold there. “Seems to me the club doesn’t trust me; they don’t want me involved and yet you’re telling me I could just turn to them? I doubt that.”
He tips his head to the side, pinning me with a gaze that has my skin prickling—in a really, really good way. “You might not like how Alarick does things, hell, you might not like how it fuckin’ goes down sometimes, but the fact of the matter is they’d have your back, cop or not, and you know it.”
Do I know it?
I don’t know.
What I do know is that this conversation is getting a little too deep and a little too sore for my liking.
“I have to go to work.”
I turn and grab my things, my heart a little heavier in my chest than it was a moment ago.
Then I get the hell out of there.
There are enough questions going on in my life right now.
I simply don’t need anymore.
“ZARIAH, IS IT?”
I look up from the mountains of paperwork I’m slowly sifting through on my desk to see none other than Steven Blanche standing in the doorway. For a moment, I’m completely stunned. He works around here, but an average cop like me doesn’t get to interact with him. Occasionally we’re sent to do jobs for him, but he’s the highest officer here and an investigator. He doesn’t talk to people, especially people like me.
“Ah, yes,” I say, immediately straightening.
Steven Blanche, also known as Bull, is a hell of an investigator. He’s well known throughout the state and is often called into different cities for his expertise. He has taken down some of the most prolific killers, including infamous serial killers. He is well sought after and basically a hero to anyone in the field wanting to be what he is—which is me.
When Alarick told me they had suspicions that he’s involved with the selling of girls, Dax and Peter, I didn’t believe him. I just can’t see how someone who is so incredibly talented and smart, who brings bad people down for a living, would be interested in risking everything he’s likely spent half of his life working for, to help someone like Dax, Peter, and whoever else is involved in this horrible case.
“I’ve heard quite a bit about you. I’m working on a case right now, and I’m in need of an extra few pairs of hands. Are you interested?”
Wait, what?
He wants me to help him? He doesn’t even know me. There are at least twenty officers in this place that would literally fight each other to be put on one of his cases. He rarely gets the help of other officers; he’s usually a one man show and he’s bloody good at it. Why he’d come in here, and pick me, I don’t know.
“You want me to help you? May I ask why?”
It’s a stupid question, I should be jumping at the chance considering this is something I’ve wanted since I became a cop. Working with him will be a leg up and put me exactly where I need to be, so risking losing it by asking questions is plain old stupid but I can’t help but wonder why he’d be wanting my help.
“I’ve heard you’ve been looking into the investigation field and want to expand your horizons. I’m looking to take a couple of students, so to speak, under my wing.”