Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63967 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 320(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
I stare at him for a long minute before I slip behind the steering wheel. “Not fucking likely, brother. That’s the second time that car rolled up this street.” I start the engine, and Wild Man jumps in beside me.
“They’re probably lost with all the fucking one-way streets around here.”
“Maybe,” I say absently, but I don’t believe that shit, not for a second. I’m not a man who leads with emotions or gut feelings. Fuck that, I use instinct and mine tells me that something is up. “Just stay alert. Did you get what we needed?”
“Not yet,” he says with a smile, pulling the tablet from the glove compartment and tapping something out on the screen. “In about two minutes, I’ll go back in to pick up the leather bag I accidentally forgot, and then I’ll have what we need.”
I wrap my hands around the steering wheel until my knuckles turn white, my jaw clenches, and my gaze bounces to all the mirrors.
“Chill out, brother. We’ll be out of here in three minutes, and I’ll buy you a Maven Cake for your troubles.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I grunt, still unconvinced.
Wild Man’s watch beeps, and he darts from the car, slowing his stride as he climbs the steps to the FBI building and back inside. I know he’ll flash that smile that makes women swoon, apologize in his charming way, and then some guard will walk him through the metal detector where he can get his bag.
It's fucking wild the way he’s able to charm his way into just about anywhere, and today I’m glad for it.
“All right, fuckers, let’s go get some sugar.” Wild Man’s focus is on the tablet screen as soon as his ass hits the seat. Banger leans over the back of Wild Man’s seat, and I’m straining my neck until it aches to see what’s on the damn tablet. He laughs and looks up at me and then Banger. “Either of you know what you’re looking at?”
“Intel,” Banger says, the duh at the end of the sentence is silent. “I’m calling Ace. He won’t want us to sit on this.”
“There it is,” Wild Man’s voice buzzes with excitement. “Rojas has a court date coming up in a few weeks, and some of the agents are taking bets on whether or not he’s taking a deal. If so, what he’s going to say?”
“You think he’s taking a deal? That seems unlikely.” He seemed like the type of old school gangster who’d rather die than rat out his friends.
“The only thing that makes it okay to be a rat is if it’s in pursuit of vengeance.” Wild Man taps his screen. “He’ll be in lockup for just a few hours before court, which means they’ll move him into a holding cell about twelve hours before that.”
“That’ll be the perfect time to hit ’em,” Ace says. “We got a guard and a Reaper on the inside. I’ll make some calls.” The call goes dead, and a quick silence settles inside the car.
“That fucker is so dead,” Wild Man says almost giddily.
“First the old man and then Ghost,” Banger growls from the backseat.
“Sounds like a plan,” I agree before flipping down the turn signal and turning the wheel, ready to merge into traffic. But the sight of that same fucking blue sedan stops me. It’s parked on the opposite side of the street, and the driver’s door opens. Ghost steps out. “Guys, check it out.”
“Motherfucker,” Banger mutters, shaking his head in disbelief.
My hand goes to my piece at my side. “What the fuck is he doing here, and how did he know we’d be here?” I refuse to believe it’s a coincidence.
My gaze lasers in on Ghost, and his shit-eating grin like he’s gotten one over on us. He leans against the car, arms folded and legs crossed at the ankles, looking like he doesn’t have a care in the world. Then the fucker waves with one hand, rapping his knuckles against the window with the other.
The passenger door opens, and all I can see at first is a crop of dark hair, shot through with silver, and when he turns, I see the scar on his face. The one I left on him. “Un-fucking-believable.”
Banger taps my shoulder. “You know that crackhead?”
“Yeah. Manny Olivera, one of the Latin Mafia. Whooped his ass in County.” And now that motherfucker is free. “This, none of this shit is a coincidence. You think both of them are in Rojas’ pocket now?”
“I think the enemy of my enemy is my friend exceeds all other points of war, and that’s exactly what’s going on. War.” Three enemies united against us.
Me and my brothers.
Our women.
Our families.
My woman.
My daughter.
These sorry-ass motherfuckers won’t know what hit ‘em.