Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69772 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
One of them would be close to where she was, and they’d help me find her.
In the interim, I closed up my workspace, and said to my second in command, Boseman, that I was headed out.
Since he’d heard the entire conversation and was fully aware of who Shayne was to me, he didn’t say a word.
I caught up to Shayne with my brother Gable’s help. Though, Gable couldn’t do anything besides follow her and tell me where she was—when he could relay that information—thanks to him being undercover.
Deep undercover.
With the same fuckin’ gang that Shayne’s brother, Costas, ran.
“I’m here,” I said to my brother the moment he watched me pull up behind his motorcycle.
And, playing the part, he immediately took off, going so fast that there was no hope for anyone to find him.
I didn’t pursue him, though.
Instead, I put my lights on and flashed them at Shayne.
Shayne pulled over on the side of 635, but I texted her instead of getting out of the car.
Me:
Pull over in the parking lot of Starbucks in front of you.
She took a few seconds to follow directions, and when she finally did, I pulled over behind her and turned my lights off.
I wasn’t surprised in the least to find a body bag in her back seat.
I walked right up to her car and said, “You’re doing this yourself?”
She nodded, not looking at me.
“All right, I’ll follow you there,” I offered. “Be careful.”
She nodded her head once and then started off, not waiting for me to get into my car to follow her.
The drive to the crematorium took an hour and a half, with all the traffic.
I watched her freak out as she stopped next to eighteen wheelers and large trucks, likely freaking out that she was going to get caught with a dead body in her car.
It almost made me smile.
The GPS took us right to the front door that was slightly open as she got out of the car and froze at the front walk.
I caught her hand and tugged her inside, walking right up to the desk where a man was sitting and said, “We’re here to bring her grandmother to get cremated.”
The man, probably in his mid-forties, looked up and studied me before turning to look at Shayne.
“You’re Shayne Rodriguez?” he asked.
Shayne swallowed and nodded.
“Okay, I’ll bring a gurney…” he started, but I was already holding up my hand. “I’ll take her.”
The man turned his attention back on me before saying, “The side door. It’s labeled as deliveries.”
I squeezed Shayne’s hand and then walked outside where I pulled the body out of the back seat.
I couldn’t say it was the most elegant move in the world, but eventually I managed to get her out, and I wondered idly how she’d been placed in.
As I carried the bag to the side door, I brought her straight to a metal table that was next to a very large machine that was billowing smoke and fire.
It was so hot inside that I instantly started sweating.
“How does this work?” I asked him.
He pointed at the machine behind him. “We’ll put her body in there, then heat it. She’ll stay in there until she’s where she needs to be. From there, we move her to that machine, where we grind the rest of bones down.”
I heard a gasp, and turned to find Shayne standing there, looking ashen.
“Um,” she hesitantly replied. “Can I say one more goodbye?”
The man nodded and pulled away as he went to a desk in the corner and picked up some paperwork.
I walked over to him and started filling everything out, then said, “She has all the paperwork declaring her death.”
“Oh, the JOP already took care of that himself. He faxed it over,” he replied.
I gave him my credit card number, then said, “Don’t run hers.”
He looked at me, then nodded. “Will do.”
I walked back up to Shayne who hadn’t even gotten the body bag partially unzipped before she’d broken down crying.
I wrapped my arms around her, realizing that she had, indeed, lost weight since I’d last seen her, and curled her up tight, exactly where she should have been since the beginning.
I fucking hated myself.
I hated myself even more that she started to cry harder the moment my arms cocooned her small form.
“Soleada, I’m so, so sorry,” I whispered into her hair.
“It’s okay,” she keened.
“It’s not,” I consoled. “I should’ve been there. I’m so sorry.”
I didn’t even know, which made it so much worse.
“I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you to know.” She sniffled into my chest.
God, she sure knew how to break my heart with her words.
The lowest of low blows were only accomplished when Shayne was the one making them.
“I’ll do better,” I told her quickly. “I’ll be here every step of the way.”
If you let me.
“Quinn,” she said softly once her sobs had absolved into nothing more than hitches of breath. “I just… I need time. I need space. I need… I need…”