Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Spec nodded, then flicked his gaze to Tracker. Whatever he was feeling must have been scrawled across his face because Spec said, “She’s good, brother. Tough and capable.”
“Yeah.” He stared out the window even though he couldn’t see worth a damn. Jo was tough and capable, but this hurricane was no damn joke. The clubhouse lost power about an hour ago, plunging into eerie darkness that twisted his insides with dread.
Jo hadn’t texted, of course. Why would she? He’d acted like a first-rate ass to her. Turned out he’d been more stressed about the night’s events than he’d let on. When Andrew called and the idea of Jo being out in this weather became a reality, he snapped. Plus, he hated that fucker as much as he hated Dante. Hated the way he looked at Jo, hated the way he harassed the club, hated his smug fucking face. He’d give his left nut to punch Andrew right in the kisser.
Too bad he’d never get the chance. At least he’d never have to see him again once Jo left the force. Of course, that would mean they were officially a couple, which might be a pipe dream now.
“Next left,” Dante mumbled through his swollen lips.
“You hear him?” Tracker asked. “Next left.”
“Got it.” Curly took the turn.
“’Bout a mile down on the left. You’ll see a shoe factory.”
“I hear him,” Curly announced.
Tracker chuckled. “You making shoes, Dante?”
Their captive didn’t answer.
Curly slowed in front of the factory. Normally, they’d have parked down the road, but the storm hid their car. The building was dark except for one light on the far right.
“Should be empty aside from one guard, right?” Spec asked.
Dante nodded.
“I’ll take care of the guard,” Tracker said.
“Right.” Spec nodded, then reached into a black duffel bag at his feet. He handed three items to Tracker. “Here’s what you need. You good with the plan?”
“Yeah. I’m solid.” After Jo left, he’d spent the next few hours reviewing his part in this plan. It was either that or go fucking crazy.
“Good.” Spec pulled another parcel from the bag—the bomb that would destroy Lobo’s equipment and merchandise. Hell, it should take out most of the factory. “Perk of knowing how to disarm bombs is knowing how to build them.” He kissed the explosive device. “Hello, gorgeous.”
“I’m telling Liv,” Tracker said.
Spec grinned like the maniacal motherfucker he was. “Okay, let’s do this.”
Tracker took a breath, then ran out into the storm.
“Fuck,” he muttered as rain assaulted him from all angles. Running to the building was a chore and a half, thanks to the intense gusts of wind. He was drenched through his clothes within seconds. The rain and dark had chilled the hot Florida air. Combined with the strong gusts of wind slapping at him, he was downright freezing.
Did Jo experience it too? Did she make it to Andrew’s cabin without getting too cold and wet? Or did she get stuck on the road by a downed tree and have to walk part of the way? The stubborn woman would have done it too.
Shit, he needed to keep his head in the game. Later he could dream up a million ways to get back in her good graces, but for now, he had to pull his weight for his family.
He made it to the door Dante had told them led to the security guard’s office. It was the only room in the building still lit. He pressed his ear to the door and waited for the signal.
Long minutes passed.
Was it too long?
Had something happened to Spec and Curly?
Had Dante somehow screwed them over?
Water ran down his face, dripping off his chin. Hell, he was soaked through his damn boxer briefs. The rain pelted so hard it stung his skin like a million tiny needles. More uncomfortable than any tattoo he’d ever sat through.
The storm raged so loud he could barely hear his own thoughts.
Hopefully, he’d be able to hear the signal to proceed.
Another few minutes passed. Just as Tracker was getting fucking worried, alarm bells blared and a muffled, “What the fuck?” sounded beyond the door. They’d done it. Dante had entered the building code to dismantle all the electronic locks.
He had seconds to react before the guard re-engaged the security system.
Tracker slid the ventilation mask over his face, then yanked the door open, almost losing his grip on the wet handle. He tossed a canister of tear gas into the room. Immediately, smoke began to fill the space.
“Who the fuck are you… oh, shit!” The guard doubled over, clawing at his eyes. He started to cough and retch.
With his heart pounding in his ears, Tracker ran up behind the guard. He grabbed him in a headlock and squeezed until the body in his arms went limp. He let the man slump to the ground, then did a quick scan of the room. Camera monitors lined one wall. A computer sat on a desk, and a small refrigerator hummed in the corner. Nothing worth taking. This wasn’t where any of Lobo’s secrets were kept.