Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
As I walk along the street, I pull my phone out of the back pocket of my jeans and call Nat, listening to all her insane updates about her new bar friend, Sullivan, and the whole time I gape, never having known Nat to go back for seconds with the same guy, no matter how well he puts it down. Especially considering that it’s barely been a little over twenty-four hours since she met the guy.
He must have really blown her mind.
I ooh and ahh at all the appropriate times as she tells me everything I need to know about this guy, but as I turn the final corner and peer down the street toward High Voltage Ink, I come to a stop.
People barge around me, muttering under their breaths and telling me to get out of the fucking way, but all I can do is stare at the array of cop cars lining the street and the police tape sectioning off High Voltage Ink.
“What in the ever-loving fuck?” I breathe, taking in the crowd of people hovering around the shop, trying to figure out what the hell is going on.
“Ky?” Nat says, clearly picking up on the confusion in my tone. “You good?”
“I, umm . . . don’t know. I have to go,” I tell her, picking up my pace and all but storming down the street. “Something is going on at High Voltage Ink.”
“Shit, okay. I’ll talk to you later.”
I mutter something before ending the call, but I can’t really be sure what the hell I said, all that matters is the shop. Shit. What if something happened to it? But what could bring all these cops here and force them to use the police tape? Unless it’s some kind of structural damage and they’re concerned about the safety of the public getting too close.
Crap. I hope it’s not because that would mean Big Jim needs to close the doors while he gets it fixed, and there’s no way in hell I’ll be able to afford my rent if I can’t work for a few weeks. Though, I’m sure Viper wouldn’t mind allowing me to set up a little studio in the back of his clubhouse to keep working on his men. At least twelve of the Grim Reapers members are ongoing clients. I’m sure if I’m allowed to quickly duck inside High Voltage Ink and grab my things, I’ll be able to figure something out.
Barging through all the people, I finally get a front-row view of the chaos unfolding at High Voltage Ink and realize there’s a shitload more cops here than I’d originally assumed. There are too many of them hovering out front to be able to see through the window, but as I scan the grim expressions on their faces, my heart races.
A familiar black jacket catches my eye, and I find Big Jim talking to a few of the cops. His head is down, and while he looks frustrated and worked up, he also looks devastated. His voice rises over the crowd, and it's clear their conversation is getting heated, so I grab the police tape and lift it over my head. “Jim,” I call out, striding toward them as a cop reaches for me, probably assuming I’m just some eager bystander looking for information.
Big Jim’s gaze snaps toward me, and he quickly waves off the cop, relief flashing in his eyes. “She’s with me,” he says, and the cop immediately backs off as I walk right into Jim, stopping barely an inch before him.
“What the fuck is going on?” I demand, keeping my voice hushed as I try to peer around the bodies blocking the view through the windows.
“Fuck, Ky. I . . . shit,” he breathes, putting a hand on my shoulder before pulling away from the storefront to where it’s a little more private. I peer up at him, not liking the tone in his voice, and as I meet his eyes, I see how broken he is. “I don’t know how to tell you this, kid,” he continues. “But the store was broken into last night and—”
I gasp, cutting him off, my eyes going wide. “Shit. Really? Don’t tell me they’ve ransacked the place.”
“No, well . . . yes. They have, but that’s not the issue, it’s . . .”
Big Jim pauses, his brows creasing, and with every second that passes, my heart races a little bit faster. “What is it?” I ask, my tone so low it’s a miracle he can even hear me. “You’re starting to scare me.”
“It’s Crew, Kyah,” he finally says. “He was here during the break-in, and from what we can tell, he tried to fight them off and . . . fuck. Ky, I’m sorry. He didn’t make it.”
“What?” I question, my back stiffening as my brows furrow, confusion pulsing through my veins. “What do you mean he didn’t make it? I just spoke to Crew yesterday. He was fine. Well, drunk out of his mind and being a complete asshole, but he was fine.”