Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 78231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
“I was working a case with Vane. You have to be supervised until you get your license,” I explained. Private investigating laws varied by state. But that was how it worked in Jersey. You had to work with another investigator for five years before you could get your own license.
“The moody one with the scar and the limp?”
“Yeah,” I agreed. “The thing is, I’m the reason he has that scar. And that he limps,” I told A.
We’d been working what seemed to be a simple case about employee theft. We’d just been checking out the construction site one night, trying to see if we could catch any after-hours bad behavior.
Vane had been good to me in those days.
Patient, but firm.
Letting me take the lead, but reining me in when he thought I was getting a little out of hand.
He’d been the best trainer I could have asked for.
Which was probably what made everything that happened that night so much worse.
“What happened, ma?” A asked, fingers still doing their little soothing movements up and down my spine.
“I thought I saw someone,” I admitted.
I want to get a closer look was what I’d said to Vane as I moved away from his side.
No.
He’d barked it at me. At the time, I thought he’d been being a dick. Later, I would find out it was because he’d seen something I hadn’t. More men. A whole crew of them.
But I wasn’t listening.
I charged in.
Young, stupid, and cluelessly walking into a situation that had a gun pressed to my temple, that had a whole group of men talking about taking their turns on me before they chopped me up and left me under the concrete flooring that was being poured for the foundation.
Vane had come in hot, swinging rebar and taking out knees, knocking men unconscious, getting blooded himself in the process.
I’d unglued as I saw some of my attackers going down, drawing up and using those fighting skills that had been hammered into me my entire life.
But not quickly enough.
I’d seen it go down as if in slow motion.
The man getting up off the ground.
Reaching into his pocket.
Pulling out the gun.
I was pretty sure I yelled a warning.
But there was no way to outrun a bullet.
Or a hail of them.
As they pounded into his body.
I watched in horror as he jolted with each one, then as he crumbled to the floor in pain.
It was only as the fucker cocked back to kick Vane that I seemed to be able to move, flying forward, and tossing my body on his attacker, pounding my fists into him over and over until he stopped moving.
“He almost died,” I told A, thinking of half-dragging him out of that building as I frantically called the police. “He had to have four separate surgeries. Was in an induced coma. Then was in the hospital for months after. Then rehab. But his leg never got back to how it was before. He’s barely spoken to me since.”
“Sounds like it was some job shit, not necessarily your fault.”
“It was both,” I admitted. I’d had a lot of years to think about that night, about how I should have acted, about what was right and what was wrong.
In the end, I was partially to blame.
But so was the client who’d withheld information about being blackmailed by a local crew, which was the real reason he wanted us on the case.
“I don’t understand why you stayed. If they still blame you, and won’t let shit go.”
“At first, it was because of Mike Sr.”
“Mike Sr.?”
“The owner of the agency,” I told him. “The current Mike’s dad. He was fond of me. He wanted me to stick it out, to learn from my mistakes. Things were tense, but tolerable then. Until Mike, Sr. started having heart issues, and needed to reduce his stress. So he left the office to his son to run. And that’s when things went from unfriendly to downright hostile.”
“Why didn’t you leave then?”
“Because I already had a year and a half in. And Mike made it clear he wasn’t going to sign off on my experience.”
“Sounds legal,” A snorted.
“Yeah. I know. But he’s enough of an asshole to have made me lose that year and half. I didn’t want to lose it.”
“You got your five years now, though, right? Why are you still there?”
“I guess mostly stubbornness now.”
“And maybe the hope that they might see your worth one day,” A suggested.
I wanted to deny that.
But there was absolutely some truth to it.
My family had been nagging me to leave for ages, but all I could tell them was that I had to make them respect me. I had to. After all the shit they’d given me. After all the disrespect and shitty jobs. After all the times I doubted myself because of them.