Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 55608 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 278(@200wpm)___ 222(@250wpm)___ 185(@300wpm)
“It might not be safe,” he grunts. “If those men—”
“You said it yourself. They don’t even know who I am. They don’t even know my name.”
“I think I used it back there,” Duke says.
“You didn’t use my last name, though, right? There must be thousands of Mollys in this city. I’m fine, okay? Please.”
Here they come, the tears streaking down my cheeks, feeling way hotter, stinging far more fiercely than they have any right to. When he doesn’t move, I push my hand against his chest, trying to shove him out of the way. He reaches up and takes my wrist.
I’m unsure who initiates the kiss that will probably be our final kiss. We collapse together, losing ourselves in the passion. He slides his hand to my hip, and I step away, shaking my head. “No, Duke. No. You said it yourself. We can’t do this. Let me go.”
He lowers his hands slowly, all tense like it’s one of the hardest things he’s ever done.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Duke
Letting her go is one of the hardest things I’ve ever done, but it’s not as if I’ll keep her here against her will. Maybe I should, but she’s right. I’m the one who said we can’t do this, even if every instinct in me is roaring to bring her back here, claim her for life.
Taking out my phone, I text her. Let me know when you’re home safe. I mean it.
Fine, she replies, but then we’re done.
I can still taste her tears from when we were kissing, and they slid down her cheeks. I stand at the bottom of the stairs, looking up, thinking of my son. My son mentally abused the woman I want to marry. If Ryan were anybody else, I’d go up there and drag him out of bed. I’d…
I can’t think like this. He’s my baby boy. The same boy I held in my arms when he was born, so small and full of potential, already with a cheeky grin on his face. My own son. I wipe angrily at my face. Goddamn. Now isn’t the time to shed even a single tear.
I wait to receive Molly’s text telling me she’s home safe.
I’m home, she texts me roughly an hour later.
Then I call up one of my buddies from my gym. His name’s Ethan, and he’s a police detective. Sitting on the couch, I explain the situation, the standoff, and the narrow escape.
“Hang on a second,” Ethan replies. “Do you have the address?”
“Uh, let me think.” I go back in my mind, remembering the neighborhood. I give him the rough address. “The bar was called Thunder or Lightning or something like that. It had a lightning bolt on the door, I think. It was all hectic.”
“I bet, bro,” Ethan replies. “I know them. They’re affiliated with a biker gang. Small-time in terms of criminal organizations, but not small-time for regular folks.”
“What should I do?” I ask. “I pieced one of them up pretty badly, and Ryan’s into them for fifty Gs. I was going to pay the pricks, too, but they had to act tough.”
“Listen, Duke. I think you need to come into the station and file a report. They imprisoned your son. They threatened you. Those firearms were probably illegal.”
I sense some hesitation in his voice. Ethan’s a good man. We’ve trained together for six years, and he’s become an animal. He’s learned countless skills that make him an effective fighter. Between rounds, we’ve talked enough for me to tell that something else is going on here.
“What’s the problem, then?” I ask.
“What do you mean?”
“Don’t bullshit me. You’re holding something back. It’s like when you try that high kick feint on me. I can read you, man.”
Ethan sighs. “It’s just… Well, we’ve dealt with these assholes before. They’re known to intimidate witnesses. In one case, they tooled up a witness badly.”
I grit my teeth, thinking of Molly and Ryan. I wonder if that order should be reversed. “I can’t have that. Have you prosecuted any successful cases against them?”
After a pause, Ethan says, “No. Between me and you, and I mean that, Duke. This can’t go anywhere.”
“I swear,” I tell him.
“I think the club they’re affiliated with has a couple of guys on the unit. I’ve had my suspicions for a while.”
“Then that seals it. I can’t go to the cops. It’s not like they’ll be able to find where I live.”
“Maybe. Maybe not, but if I’m right…”
“Ah, I get it. Yeah. Of course.”
If he’s right, the thugs can use their police buddies to find my home address.
“When I was a fighter, we had security,” I tell him. “One of them used to talk about his contract work, mercenary-type stuff. Would it be possible to hire somebody like that to watch over a couple of people for me? Just until this shit blows over.”