Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75337 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
He wasn’t wrong, so I didn’t bother insisting otherwise.
It wasn’t until I dropped Cesare back at his place, popping in for a couple of minutes to check it out, then got back in my car, that I got the call.
Anthony had never made it to the diner.
As if that news didn’t make my heart go into practical fucking arrest, then I was told the whole of it.
Wren was taken.
Whitney had gone after her.
And no one had any idea what the fuck to do about it.
Me, I was already doing an illegal u-turn and hauling it up toward Wren’s ex’s neighborhood.
After getting some details about that whole situation out of Whit, I’d gone ahead and done some digging myself. Just in case I ever needed to pay the bastard a visit.
Did I risk parole doing shit like that?
Yeah.
But if that bastard was going around threatening or hurting my woman, then, yeah, it would be worth it.
So I knew his apartment building.
I knew his number.
And I was pounding my fist on it until a voice from behind me made me stop.
“It’s been a busy night for that apartment,” a teenage girl said, nodding at me.
“What does that mean? Have you seen him? Did he have a pretty girl with him?”
“No. I just told the lady that he hasn’t been around in a few days.”
“What lady?” I barked, then winced, worried I would scare the poor thing, but she seemed nonplussed.
“I didn’t get her name. But she had on this awful blue dress. And an apron. She was here looking for that abusive dickhead too.” Something about her smug smirk told me she dared me to comment on her profanity.
“Any idea where the fuck he could be?” I asked, feeling panic gripping my system.
“Sorry, no. But that lady rushed out of here in a hurry like she had some idea.”
I hadn’t wanted to call her, to ruin her cover if she was hiding out outside the guy’s apartment, trying to find a way in.
But I had to now.
I couldn’t let her think she was alone in this.
I never felt relief like I’d felt when I’d heard her voice on the other end of the phone.
Until, of course, she started talking like she might not make it out of this, like she’d accepted that death was a possible outcome for her.
Which, well, it fucking wasn’t.
Not on my watch.
No fucking way.
In general, I was a careful driver. I didn’t want to give the law any excuse to pull me over, to give my parole officer a hard time. He was already a greedy bastard. I didn’t want to have to toss any more money his way.
But for Whitney?
Fuck.
The goddamn pedal was to the floor from the second she’d hung up until my car was speeding down the street in an expensive neighborhood in New Jersey.
I barely fucking remembered to cut the damn engine when my gaze found Whitney’s bag laying on the side of the driveway near the street, making me worry that the bastard had been laying in wait, had been anticipating her arrival, and had snatched her as soon as she’d gotten out of the cab.
“Fuck,” I growled, grabbing an extra gun out of my trunk along with enough bullets to take down a fucking herd of buffalo, then ran up the long driveway toward the house at the end of it.
It was a big place.
Lots of windows.
A rich guy’s house.
Probably built in the eighties. I could see a lot of black and chrome on the inside, if it was still original to the house.
I only slowed when I got near the front door, pausing to listen, finding it eerily silent save for the chorus of crickets and cicadas all around.
If he had the girls inside, why were they silent?
Had he gagged them?
Killed them?
No.
I couldn’t let my mind go there.
I had to keep hope alive.
I moved along the front windows, wanting to get a look inside, knowing I would be useless to them if Josh saw me coming and took me out before I could get them free.
But as soon as I heard it, faint against the loud backdrop of nature, I turned and ran back to the door.
Crying.
Someone was crying.
I had no idea who it was.
But no matter which sister, it was my fucking job to protect them. So I ran through the center of the house, following the sound of the sobbing to the kitchen at the back of the house.
Where Whitney was standing over the bloodied body of Josh with a dripping chef’s knife in her hand.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Whitney
I thought I’d experienced adrenaline surges before.
That time I’d broken Josh’s nose being a prime example.
But nothing even came close to what I felt as I flew into that house.
I felt oddly in and out of my body at the same time. Like I felt the way my blood was rushing through my veins, the thrumming of my heart against the confines of my ribcage.