Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
“It smells,” she whispers.
“Gasoline. It’s part of the process, rendering coca mash.”
Her distressed sound is almost too quiet, but it’s there.
She’s nearly mangling her bottom lip now, turning it a succulent red.
“I thought there was gasoline in moonshine? That’s why they say it’s bad to drink…”
“You can make gasoline out of moonshine if you want to ruin your car. You can’t make moonshine from gasoline. Also…” I gesture toward the two men who are busy off-loading several large sacks, clearly marked cement. “You want to tell me what you think happens with cement in the moonshine process?”
“No clue.” She shakes her head.
“Nothing. Because cement powder binds cocaine, but it doesn’t have a damned thing to do with brewing rotgut booze.” I can’t help how my whisper turns fierce. “I’m telling you the truth, Talia. All that equipment, those ingredients, they’re brewing coke out here. I’ve tried following them back to their farm to find out where they hide the equipment and raw materials between batches, but they’re too fucking crafty. They know how to pull a disappearing act before I catch them with real evidence. If I tried a bust out here like this, it’d be me and the guys—and they’d mow us down before we ever flashed a warrant. No one’s going to send in SWAT for one crazy albino dude stalking the hillfolk over what everyone thinks is just bad whiskey.”
I’m expecting another protest. Another denial.
Instead, I get a low, almost betrayed whimper.
Not at me, though.
Her fingers clench the binoculars as she lets out an almost heartbroken whisper. “Oh my God. Is that… the chief?”
I turn my head, looking down at the almost mechanical assembly line getting everything in working order with terrifying speed.
Sure enough, there’s a familiar figure there, portly belly in plainclothes, standing with Ephraim Jacobin and another figure I don’t see too often. An older woman, who stands there like a witch in a black shroud, her face like death.
“Yeah. I told you he’s part of it,” I whisper.
“Holy shit! But I didn’t know you meant—”
“I know. Keep it down. I’m the only one who knows. He’s someone you’ve always thought was safe, right? Someone who’s part of your everyday life. But even the people you think you know can lie their asses off.”
I can’t take my eyes off Bowden. There’s something different about the way he carries himself tonight. The hardness of his face is so at odds with his usual jowly smiles and bumbling pleasantry.
“This is where lies are born. Lies people tell themselves, that maybe if they take this powder, they can be superhuman. They can feel amazing. They can forget their worries, and they’ll never stop feeling that way; the consequences will never catch up to them… their bodies won’t eat themselves alive for another hit.” I trail off, hatred bubbling on my tongue. “But karma always comes around. The lie always has empty promises. And thousands of people on the East Coast alone die every year thanks to those assholes down there, who think it’s all fine and dandy just as long as the plague they unleash doesn’t touch their little town too much.” That hatred turns into a lump in my throat. “Like the people they never see suffering don’t matter. Like my brother didn’t matter.”
I can hear the moment it clicks for her.
The shudder of her breath, the noise in the back of her throat.
I can’t look at her—but I know she’s looking at me.
Her big blue eyes pull on me like she wants to help me when I don’t want to fucking feel better.
I want to hate.
I want raw and ugly and real.
I want this bloodlust fresh on my tongue until the day I demolish them.
“Micah,” she whispers, her voice full of a hurting sympathy I can’t stand when it tempts me to be weak, to fall into the comforting distractions of her softness and scent.
“Don’t,” I bite back bitterly. Rolf lets out a low whine and presses himself against my calf. “I don’t want to hear it. It won’t bring him back. All I want to hear is whether or not you’ll help me after seeing this. I know Xavier Arrendell is the final key. He’s what makes this possible. I just need to prove it.”
“We,” she answers with firm conviction. It rips through my grim focus, my fury, and forces me back to her. “We need to prove it.”
I stare at her.
She looks back at me with glassy eyes that seem like they could swallow the whole sky.
No matter what an anxious little thing she is, she has heart.
She has a spine.
More importantly, she has the strength to stare at me, determined and firm in her decision, even though she’s shaking and I don’t think it’s the cold.
This woman might be the key to everything.
And if I’m not careful, she could be my undoing.