Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Unable to finish the thought is accompanied by a low grumble and harder tapping of the accelerator. Screeches from the sensors crash into the unholy cries pouring out of him to create a symphony of horror that successfully relaxes my shoulders as well as brings a smirk to my face.
Reynolds poorly hides his cringes while nervously watching my lifted back end prepare to collide with the assailant’s chest, an action that’s never quite completed courtesy of my ringing cell.
Throwing the vehicle into park pulls a loud sigh of relief from the other two people in the area alongside an amused grunt from me. I tear my attention away from the reverse cam and professionally answer the call, “Wahl.”
“The target is ready for discharge,” Blu casually announces into the phone, mirth impossible to ignore. “However, she hates the outfit Monte brought her to wear and is refusing to leave the building in it.”
“How bad is it?”
“She’s given up trying to explain it to him and simply moos instead.”
I grant myself the opportunity to chuckle for what feels like the first time all day.
“T has been laughing so hard that he nearly pissed himself two minutes ago.”
Something I’m sure put him back in her good graces.
“She begged me to go get her something from the gift shop but-”
“Don’t. Even. Think. About leavin’ that room before I get back, Blu.”
“I’m not.”
“Tell her I’m around the corner and will swing by the giftshop on my way back.”
“Roger that.”
I immediately end the call, slide out of the front seat, and stroll to the situation it’s time to end. “How do you feel, Messina?” My face cranes a little closer to his. “Scared?”
Instead of words, I simply receive choked sobs.
“Perfect.” An undeniable vile smile spreads from ear to ear at the same time I state, “Now, you know how she fuckin’ felt.” Grabbing his damp face allows me to snap it my direction to maintain eye contact. “Come near my woman again – in any way – and I’ll line your body bag with that same twenty k that got you into this shit. Clear?”
“Cl-cl-clear.”
“Word of advice?”
“O-o-okay.”
“You might wanna change careers. You’re clearly not cut out for this shit.” The condescending cheek pat he’s presented is followed by me redirecting my stare to Reynolds. “Leave him here. Let him wonder if he’s gonna live or die the same way Arley did. ”
He nods his understanding and begins backing up to his vehicle. “We square?”
“We’re square.”
Just like Yi is for finding this motherfucker so fast for me.
He never should’ve let Arley walk alone, late at night, by herself to her car. His job is to keep her ass safe especially when I can’t. He fucked up and had he not found this blockheaded idiot for hire in record time his slate would still be stained.
The thing is…I’m not really one for grudges.
They’re a waste of time and resources to me.
You have an issue?
Address it.
Correct it.
Do whatever it takes to fix it before the shit can spiral out of control and become something bigger.
Uglier.
Deadlier.
However, with that said, when I finally figure out exactly who made the grave mistake of coming after my heart, I still won’t hold a grudge.
Just a loaded weapon.
Aimed right between their eyes.
Chapter 7
Arley
I’ve never been more convinced than I am right now that all the men in my life are completely clueless when it comes to fashion.
We’re talking more than the stereotypical amount.
Latest proof?
This god-awful shirt my best friend walked into my hospital room and proudly presented like he had scoured each and every runway in Milan in order to find it rather than the new parent section of the giftshop.
Slater pauses outside his downtown penthouse apartment door and flashes me a wide grin again. “Come on, Angel Cake, it’s clever.”
“It’s not clever.”
“Then it’s witty.”
“It’s not that either.”
“Alright,” he removes his keycard from his back pocket, “then just plain ol’ funny.”
“You mean punny? Because then yes, this Pac-Mom shirt is very punny.”
“Which is what makes it funny.”
“Yeah, in a Dad joke sort of way.”
“What I’m hearin’ is…you really do like it, and you just don’t want the world to know it.”
His deliciously cocky grin receives a sassy smirk. “What you should be hearing is…between this shirt and the Russian hat you are not to be trusted on clothing related missions.” Loud, lively chuckles bounce his entire frame prior to whirling warmly around me. “I’ll have to make a note of that in your file. Recommend you get some much-needed training in that department.”
“Yeah, I must’ve went to tactical instead of tactile that day.”
Giggles are attached to a gentle poke to his bicep. “That was clever.”
“Thank you,” Slater chuckles at the same time he unholsters his weapon. “Now, protocol dictates I sweep an area before stationing the target into a new environment, so when we step inside, you need to wait by the front door until I announce that it’s clear. Understood?”