Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 153571 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 768(@200wpm)___ 614(@250wpm)___ 512(@300wpm)
I try to compose myself, but this time, I can't control myself. I'm so fucking afraid that I'm going to lose everything that matters to me. I can't breathe through the fear. I never planned to get pregnant this soon, but I want this baby more than I've ever wanted anything. I want the future Roman promised me.
How am I going to survive if I lose them?
Tahani slides closer to me and wraps her arm around my shoulders. I cling to her and sob, crying so hard that I can't catch my breath as fear overwhelms me completely. She murmurs to me, telling me that everything will be okay. I want to believe her, but I can't. Roman always calls me a warrior, but I don't feel like one right now. I feel smaller and more vulnerable than I've ever felt in my life.
I need him to be okay, and I need him to be here.
Please let him be okay. Please.
Chapter Twenty-Nine
Roman
"You good, man?" Brady asks, shaking out his hand as the ambulance pulls off in the distance, carting our latest target to the hospital. Two LAPD squad cars follow behind, their take-down lights ripping through the darkness.
Brady and I stay hunkered down in the alley half a block away, waiting for the coast to clear. If LAPD is looking for us, they aren't looking hard. That's the fourth time since midnight that they've come to pick up our handiwork and left without doing more than a cursory glance around. Either they've got more important shit to do than deal with a few known cartel associates getting the shit kicked out of them, or they just don't give a fuck.
After spending the last few weeks picking up the dead bodies Guerrero's men have left littered all over the city, I'm thinking they just don't give a fuck. We haven't killed anyone yet, and they've got bigger fish to fry.
So do we.
Guerrero's men haven't told us a damn thing. We're no closer to the son of a bitch now than we were four hours ago.
"They don't have a fucking clue where he's hiding," I mutter to Brady, turning my head in his direction when the squad cars disappear from sight.
He grunts, tearing a strip off his shirt to wrap around his knuckles. They're swollen and bleeding. His hand is probably broken. It hasn't slowed him down any. He's been a machine, unstoppable.
"If de Silva didn't know where he's at, no one does," I tell him, reaching up to rake a hand through my hair. Halfway up, I remember Jesus de Silva's blood is still dripping from my hand and drop it back to my side. I've been unstoppable, too.
The four we've gotten ahold of are going to be in for a very fucking uncomfortable few weeks. Broken arms, jaws…a kneecap. I have no sympathy for any of them. They deserve every bit of pain we inflicted and then some.
The two who almost killed Mila are lucky I left them alive for the ambulance to cart off. Leaving them breathing went against everything I believe, but I promised her I'd be coming for her…and I can't keep that promise if I'm in prison for killing the motherfuckers.
Guerrero though? He's done. As soon as we find him, his life is over. If I have to play by Finn's rules and let him take the first shot to ensure I make it back to Mila, so be it. But he's going to die.
"I know," Brady says after a moment and then sighs. "There's no fucking way he was lying."
Jesus de Silva, Guerrero's right-hand man, is a rapist, a murderer, and worse. And he cried like a little bitch before we let up, confessing to a whole lot of shit we suspected but couldn't ever prove. He told us where to find the guns. He told us where to find the drugs. He told us fucking everything. The only thing he didn't tell us is where the fuck Guerrero is. Which means he doesn't know.
Guerrero is off the grid. Either he ran, or he's up to something else, and he's working alone. Neither option is particularly comforting.
"I'm not sure how much longer I can do this shit," I mutter, tipping my head back and closing my eyes. I'm tired of doing this same song and dance. The longer we're out here, the longer I'm away from Mila. That shit isn't sitting well with me. As badly as I want to put a bullet in Guerrero's brain…as much as he fucking deserves to be shot down like a rabid dog…Mila needs me more.
I know she's safe. No one even knows that Tahani recently moved to Sacramento, so there is no obvious reason I'd send Mila there, and she has two officers guarding her. Declan Carter and Jeff Benson will protect her with their lives if necessary. I trust them implicitly. But she's pregnant, she's afraid, and I should be with her instead of running all over Los Angeles, looking for a fucking needle in a haystack.