Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
She’s slow, her injuries making her little face scrunch in pain, but she never complains. Not a single hiss of discomfort leaves her lips, not even when I sweep her up in my arms in the elevator because she’s moving too slowly, not when I shove her into the back seat of my truck.
She’s brave. I’ll give her that.
Bravery is stupid, however.
Bravery can get you killed when facing your teacher.
Do your worst.
Those were my mother’s last words. She challenged my father.
It was the only time he obeyed her.
“Seatbelt,” I snap when those blue eyes just stare up at me.
Taking a little girl from a hospital isn’t even close to the worst thing I’ve ever done. Hell, I don’t think it makes it into the top ten, but my own hands are trembling as I pull out of the hospital parking lot.
The shake doesn’t ease until I’m heading south.
“Do you need something to eat?” I growl.
Blue eyes blink at me in the rearview mirror before her little head shakes.
“Do you need something to drink?”
Another shake of her head.
“Bathroom?”
Those blue eyes widen slightly before she shakes her head this time.
Varon may be one of the best teachers I’ve seen, but the fear in her eyes, the bruises marring her skin, makes me rageful.
Children are meant to be taught, not hurt.
Those words came from my father.
His father didn’t have the same mindset.
The itch to kill grows with each passing mile, and I only start to feel relief when the little girl closes her eyes, exhaustion winning against her desperate need to anticipate what’s coming next.
I refuse to analyze why I do it, but I slow down, cautious of the dips and bumps in the road.
I know what it’s like to sleep with one eye open.
I’ve done it my entire life.
She deserves a little respite from the pain she’s suffered.
The cape knotted around my neck eases a little with what I’ve done tonight.
Chapter 4
Lauren
If I were alone, I’d throw my cell phone against the wall when I look down and see it void of call and text notifications.
I sent a text to Alan Moore, my FBI handler, three days ago. When he didn’t respond, I sent an SOS text.
I’m not in danger, despite my skin feeling like it’s getting sticky around all the sweetness here at the Cerberus clubhouse. He’s supposed to get back to me immediately after an SOS call. What if I was really in trouble?
The FBI would replace you in a second.
I know that may be partially true, but the FBI doesn’t have many agents like me.
I do things, work cases, most men are too afraid to touch.
I welcome the depravity, the punishment, the real threat that I may enter a house and never see daylight again.
It makes me feel alive.
I feel like I’m dwindling here, and although he’s not saying it directly, Diego “Kincaid” Anderson, president of the Cerberus MC, thinks it’s time for me to move on.
“Still haven’t heard from him?” Diego asks.
I shake my head and shrug. “It’s New year’s Eve. He’s probably letting loose a little for the holiday.”
“I can put in a call,” he offers.
Translation—the sooner you’re gone, the better.
He’s too mannered, too polite to tell me that I make people feel uneasy, that he, along with everyone else, can’t truly understand why I am the way I am.
I guess I should be grateful he hasn’t offered to help me other than giving me a place to crash for a few days.
I’d be out the door faster than anyone could blink if he mentions Dr. Alverez, the psychologist the club uses regularly when one of the members drags home some stray victim they couldn’t cut loose on a job, or when one of the members themselves struggle with something they saw or had to do in the field.
I understand the idea of it, but the whole healthy mind, body, and spirit bullshit makes me want to roll my eyes.
Feeding the demons is the only way to control them. Fighting them keeps the power exchange tipped in their favor.
Talking about it with an overpriced doctor and cleansing your mind of it may work for them, but I’ve got no damn interest in all that woo-woo shit.
“He’ll get back to me soon,” I assure Diego. “If I don’t hear from him tomorrow, I’ll head to the office.”
“I’m not trying to rush you out, but—”
There’s always a but, and statistically, it means everything said before that one three letter word is complete shit.
“We’re thinking of expanding.”
“More guys?” I ask, choosing to focus on that part of the conversation rather than the half lie he’s just told.
The man has been overly generous to me. So much so that I’m suspicious of him. It’s the reason I keep looking for the bad in all these people and hating when I come up empty. I don’t get bad vibes from any of them, and that’s suspicious as fuck. Everyone gives off at least a little menace because, as humans, we’re all capable of evil shit when pushed to our limits.