Total pages in book: 136
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136247 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 681(@200wpm)___ 545(@250wpm)___ 454(@300wpm)
I’m just as surprised as anyone when I look him in the eye, beaming pure hatred, refusing to shudder.
I just wish defiance won more than brownie points.
The evilness oozing off this towering beast turns my blood ice-cold.
22
We’ve Goat Trouble (Faulkner)
I stomp my foot on the gas and wrench the wheel, cutting the corner onto the gravel road leading to the Maddock farm so hard my truck sprays rocks.
Those bastards made quick work of the cameras out front—hitting them with black paintballs before they had a chance to capture anything.
Too bad for them they missed one.
The frames from the camera on the barn showed me everything I needed to know about the men I’m about to dismember. I also know exactly where Tory’s been taken.
The pictures showed her walking out of the house with Owl at her side, entering the barn, then two soon-to-be-very-sorry minions slinking up to the door.
My heart spills into my gut, recalling the frame where she went limp.
They picked her up like a kitten and carried her around the building to their truck.
They put their hands on my woman, signing their death warrants.
The images showed how they’d kept the Chevy parked down by the pond, which is why I hadn’t heard it while I’d been on the phone.
I wish to God I had. I would’ve heard her leaving the house, if my dumb ass wasn’t so caught up in getting her to safety while she was already in peril.
If I hadn’t put so much faith in this wizard camera tech, where the only way the app alerts fail is human error. Because I was so glued to talking to my people about Pickett that I missed two crucial motion alerts from the camera on the barn, never thinking for one second Tory would leave the house.
Don’t worry. There’ll be time to kick my own butt to India and back later.
For now, if Bat Pickett has stolen a single hair on her head...I growl at the savage thoughts scalding my brain and stomp the gas again.
Time is of the fucking essence.
I can’t wait for Powers and whatever backup he’s brought from the Bureau. That’s a given.
Drake said he’d get help—the unofficial kind since the entire Dallas PD is about to form ranks with the Feds flying in—and he’d meet me at the Maddock place. Grady and Ridge, no doubt.
Help I don’t want, honestly, even if I’ve got no choice but to take it and be glad.
My friends are husbands and fathers. All the more reason I need to end this myself, without giving another Pickett brother a chance to draw anybody else’s blood.
Without creating more widows and kids who’ll never know their daddy.
Justin’s parting, innocent smile as he climbed into his car sticks in my head. My blood boils over.
This is my mess to clean up and my woman to save. No one else’s.
My phone rings just then.
Another unknown number.
I hit the answer button on the steering wheel so it comes over the speaker, but I don’t say anything.
“Ah, Faulkner. Just the man I want to invite to my little barbecue.”
Bat Pickett’s slimy, rough voice sounds just like his dead brother’s. I squeeze the steering wheel harder.
“Talk, asshole,” I snarl. “Why you calling?”
“No need to play dumb. We both know I have something you want real bad,” Bat says, this hot triumph in his voice. “A pretty little thing.”
My jaw aches, pinched like a vise. I don’t answer.
“Well? Would you like to know where she is?” he asks.
It’s hard not to roll my eyes right out of their sockets.
He’s such a cartoon villain.
“I know where she is,” I bite off. “Already on my way. You’ll see my headlights in two minutes flat.”
The stunned silence on the other end is a tiny victory.
“Let me talk to her,” I say. “If I don’t get proof she’s still alive, I swear to fuck, I’ll turn around and come back with an entire SWAT crew for her body—and yours.”
I’m working off my playbook.
First rule of FBI negotiations with monsters like Bat Pickett: no matter how hopeless, how dire, how improbable it seems to negotiate, show no fear.
Can’t help but flinch, though, when I hear a muffled thud and then Bat whispering, telling Tory to say hello.
“Quinn! We’re...we’re at the Maddock farm” she says breathlessly. “I’m okay.”
“I know. I’m almost there. Did he hurt you?”
The way she pauses makes my fury so hot I’m about to be a flaming wreck.
“Yes.” Her voice is far off, as if the phone gets jerked away.
“I see your headlights now,” Bat says coldly. “Only one set? No backup?”
I snort. “What, and get more folks mixed up in this idiocy? This is between you and me, Bat. My crew stays out of it—unless you do something stupid like shoot me in the head the minute I step out of my truck.”