Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116636 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 583(@200wpm)___ 467(@250wpm)___ 389(@300wpm)
That was a relief. The ball of tension loosened in my chest, which was very curious. Up to that moment I hadn’t been able to feel my chest at all. Probably because of the drugs, which they’d given me because I got … attacked by a bullet? Oh yeah. Maybe I should ask Reese about that, now that I knew Jess was safe …
“When did I get shot?”
“In the warehouse,” he said. “Do you remember the man in the bathroom?”
I shuddered, wishing I could forget him—I had a feeling I’d be seeing those eyes blinking at me in my nightmares for the rest of my life.
“Yes.”
“We think it might’ve been a ricochet in there,” he said. “Either that or a random hit while we were running out of the building. It’s a graze along your arm, but you got lucky. Didn’t penetrate much past the outer layer of muscle—no nerve damage. You had so much other blood covering you that we didn’t even notice until you passed out on the floor of the van. Like Em all over again. Thought I’d have a fuckin’ heart attack.”
I frowned. “Why didn’t I feel it?”
“Adrenaline. Happens more often than you’d think.”
I blinked at him, the world finally coming into focus. Reese looked tired, his eyes shadowed with dark circles, and I had a feeling I wasn’t looking too shit-hot myself. My head was starting to throb—felt like a Mack truck had rolled right over me. I looked around, trying to move as little as possible in the process. I seemed to be in a child’s bedroom. There was a kitten poster up on the wall and a pink canopy overhead.
“Where on earth are we?”
“At a friend’s house,” he told me, scooting his chair closer. “His club and the Reapers are allies, so when you needed a place to go, he offered. We’ve had a medic in to see you, and they stitched you up while you were out. Doc said you’ll be fine, gave you a shot of painkillers before he left. He’s a friend of the club, too—won’t report anything. Jessica’s situation is a little more complicated, because she needed more tests. Got her into a private clinic. They’ll keep their mouths shut so long as they get paid enough.”
I closed my eyes again, too tired to keep talking. The bed dipped and then Reese was lying next to me. It hurt to move, but I cuddled into his arms anyway. He made me feel safe and protected.
“One more thing I should mention,” he said.
“What’s that?”
“Looks like Jessica was raped. Repeatedly. She’ll need STD and pregnancy tests.”
I closed my eyes, because I couldn’t handle thinking about that just yet.
“She’ll need a lot more than that.”
He didn’t say anything, which I appreciated. Instead he rubbed my back softly, soothing me. Why, I have no idea. I didn’t deserve his kindness—not after what I’d done.
I drifted off, waking up again when someone opened the door and asked Reese something.
“No,” he answered quietly, although I hadn’t caught the question. You need to pull yourself together, figure out what happens next.
“Anything else I should know about?” I managed to whisper, the drug fog muffling me. He gave a humorlous laugh.
“Well, apparently someone hit five drug warehouses and eight safe houses belonging to the cartel last night. No idea yet about a body count, but the cops are sayin’ almost all the leadership was taken out nearly simultaneously. They’re tryin’ to figure out who might be behind it.”
“Did all of our guys make it out okay?”
“We lost three,” he said, his voice lowering. “One Reaper and two Devil’s Jacks. Nobody you knew. And here’s bad luck for you—the cops picked up Puck and Painter last night for speeding. Found some guns in the car, so now they’re lookin’ at a trafficking charge.”
“Shit. By ‘lost,’ do you mean … ?”
“Dead.”
“Who were they?” I asked, my voice a whisper.
“My brothers,” Reese said, his voice rough. “Even the Jacks—they earned it with their blood. Now isn’t the time for crying, though. Gotta get everyone home safe first. Then we’ll remember them.”
“What about Puck and Painter?”
“Lawyer’s on his way right now,” he replied. “But probably not lookin’ so good for either of them. Both have priors. You owe Puck, by the way. He’s the one who figured out where you were. Hadn’t been for him, we might not’ve found you in time.”
I frowned.
“Surprised he bothered. I don’t think he likes me very much.”
“Doesn’t matter how he feels about you,” Reese told me. “Protectin’ club property. That’s his job.”
I had no idea how to react to that statement, so I decided to pretend I hadn’t heard it.
“Overall it was a big win for us—it’ll take years for them to recover,” he continued. “The boss down in Mexico’s already been in touch, askin’ for a truce. They’ve agreed to stay south of San Francisco, at least for now, and leave the local clubs alone. In exchange, we gave ’em a little token of our appreciation.”