Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 63895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63895 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 319(@200wpm)___ 256(@250wpm)___ 213(@300wpm)
Roman got to work and dug around in the bedroom, lifting the mattresses, looking under the beds, underneath all the boxers and briefs stuffed inside the single drawer. He checked behind the watercolor scenescapes that hung on the wall, looked behind all the cleaning supplies in the bathroom cabinet, even checked the air vents by hopping on a chair and taking them off.
Nothing, again. This room was empty. If Leonidas was hiding the tome near him, it wasn’t in this bedroom. Roman gathered the cord for the vacuum and picked up the bucket full of sprays and bleach solutions.
“The first upstairs bedroom is clear,” Roman said with a finger pressed to the nearly invisible earpiece.
“Same with the bedroom at the end of the hall,” Mimic said.
“I’m still looking through this one,” Wyatt replied. “I don’t think—whoa, whoa. Guys, holy shit. Holy shit.”
“What? What is it?” Roman asked, nearly dropping his bucket.
Suddenly, the door to the bedroom opened, startling Roman. A man dressed in all black, a lion’s claw hanging on his neck, stepped inside. A pistol hung off the holster around his waist.
“What the fuck are you doing in here?”
“Cleaning, sir.”
The man looked around the room, gruff expression clearly showing how unimpressed he was. Roman clutched onto the handle of the vacuum. If he lifted it and swung at just the right angle, he could knock this guy out before he sounded the alarms. “You’re doing a shit fucking job of it.”
“Sorry, I—”
“Don’t fucking apologize. Just get to work. Fuck.” The man rolled his eyes and stormed past Roman, grabbing a shirt off the bed and a pair of jeans before leaving the room.
Roman let go of a relieved breath. Apparently, Leonidas’ no-upstairs rule wasn’t shared with the rest of his people.
“What did you find, Wyatt?”
Loud static blasted into his ear. He cursed and snatched the earpiece out before his eardrum burst. It took a moment, but the static ceased. Roman popped the earpiece back in.
“Salt? Mimic? What the hell was that? Hello? Hello?”
Roman’s heart, already racing at about a thousand beats per minute, was on the verge of exploding. He took a deep breath and readied himself to run downstairs. If their cover was blown and they had to fight their way out of the lion’s den, then so be it—they’d do it tooth and claw. Roman wasn’t getting caught again. Not this time.
“Roman, what the hell was that?” Mimic asked, her voice sending a surge of serotonin through him. Now he just needed Wyatt to check in.
“I’m not sure,” Roman answered. “Salt, you okay?”
“No, Salt is not okay. This was a clever plan, Roman. Clever and stupid all at the same time. Meet me out by the pool. Both of you.”
The serotonin leeched out of him in seconds, replaced with a cold and toxic dread. This was worst-case scenario all over again.
Roman set the bucket of cleaning supplies and vacuum down, peeling off the prosthetics and dumping them in the bucket. He put a hand over the gun underneath his shirt, a small comfort inside of the shitstorm he currently found himself directly in the center of.
I’m coming for you, Salt. It’s my turn to rescue you.
Chapter 18
Wyatt Hernandez
Wyatt was dragged out of the room by two men who gave Bang Bang a run for his money when it came to cosplaying a brick wall. Wyatt didn’t stand a chance, and he knew that. He didn’t put up a struggle, just went limp, his feet dragging along behind him. The men held on to him tightly, enough to cause pain in his shoulder joints. He winced, clenching his teeth and hoping to all hope that Roman had a plan.
“I knew I didn’t hire no fucking cleaners,” Leonidas said as he towered over Mimic, who held her stomach as if she’d just been kicked. Her wig had been ripped off, the brunette curls floating in the pool as if they were part of a drowning victim.
“Mimic, are you okay?”
Wyatt’s question earned him his own kick to the gut. He doubled over with the sharp and sudden pain, spitting as he dropped to his knees.
“Neither of you say a single fucking word, okay?” Leonidas walked to Wyatt, crouching down and lifting his head with a cold finger under the chin. Wyatt blinked away tears. He didn’t want to let this man see him hurt, but he also couldn’t help it. Not only was the pain of the kick excruciating, but the pain of messing up the heist was almost insurmountable. He’d been caught, and that led to Mimic and Roman getting caught.
Wyatt dropped his head to the ground, the warm cement scratching at his forehead. He wondered what it would take to make the ground split open directly underneath him and swallow him whole. It would make things so much easier that way.