Total pages in book: 134
Estimated words: 133182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133182 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 666(@200wpm)___ 533(@250wpm)___ 444(@300wpm)
“What do you not understand about we’re busy?” Simon snips at me.
“Two police cars are coming up on me and one’s parked at the Chief’s house. They here for me?” I ask quickly.
“They’re there to speak with the family,” he says curtly, as if he couldn’t care.
“Is one of them Morrison?” I ask.
“No. He’s still at the scene from what I can tell,” Simon says.
“Okay, do me a favor, Simon. Tell my big brother, Lucifer, if you can’t give me any more information than this shit, I’ll go in there and find out myself. My way will be bloody and very fucking bad for everyone involved,” I say before disconnecting.
Pushing the disconnect button on Simon, I force myself to keep an even speed and not rubberneck as I pass Sophia’s house.
I’ll go wait for news and a time I can take her at the house I have setup to keep watch over her.
Dammit all to hell, Mitzy is going to kill me.
2
James
It’s been almost twenty-four hours since Sophia’s father was shot in the middle of the fucking street on our watch, and I haven’t been able to get close to her.
Not only are there fucking cops patrolling outside her house around the clock, there’s even a couple of the fuckers in the house with her.
I’m tempted, so fucking tempted to go storming in guns a-blazing to get my girl, but I know in the end I would only wind up fucking dead.
So I can do nothing but fucking wait. Wait and watch.
Just like I’ve been doing for the past seven fucking months.
Propped up in the sometimes steaming, sometimes freezing attic of the house directly across from hers, I sigh and try to stretch out the muscles in my back.
This watching shit is uncomfortable as fuck. I’m either squatting in front of the little window or sitting for hours on end.
It’s great for the glutes, but hell on the rest of my body.
My phone starts ringing as soon as I settle back into position and aim my binoculars at the window.
I check real quick to see if anything has changed during the last sixty seconds or so, but no, all those fucking pigs are still there.
Fuck.
Dropping the binoculars, I dig my phone out of my pocket and yank it up to my ear. “What?”
“Get here now. Lucifer’s requesting you too,” Johnathan growls into my ear.
Then he hangs up.
Request. That means Lucifer’s specifically asking for me.
I remember back in the Marines, at your earliest convenience being said. In reality it meant right the fuck now, don’t fuck around.
I get that the old man we’ve been keeping on ice is waking up…
But what the fuck do I have to do with it?
Hitting the road and driving out to our warehouse, I figure out this is my payment for Sophia. I’ll probably have a whole new list of shit I’ll have to keep on top of as well.
This is the first installment paid on my dues to the family for the new addition in my life.
If I didn’t feel so damn… possessed, I guess is the right word, I’d have left her to Simon to deal with. Let him dispose of the collateral damage her fucking father has brought onto us.
But one damn kiss, one damn punch to the chin, and I’m fucking hooked.
I simply can’t live a life without her in it.
Meredith, Simon’s wife, had me dead to rights that night she took over the phone for Simon. She knew the words to keep me from doing something stupid.
But right now, I’d rather do something real fucking stupid.
I want to e-brake this car, turn around, and snatch Sophia out from under the noses of all those fucking cops. Steal her away from all the assholes that have been standing between me and her.
I’d take her up to the mountains and keep her ass in a cabin. Keep her away from the whole outside world.
I’d get all fucking mountain survivalist man on her.
The warehouse looms out ahead of me and I grumble at the sight of it.
Fucking thumbs…
If I have to handle one more severed thumb, I’m going to stab Simon in the fucking dick.
Pushing the call button on my dashboard, I dial Harrold then wait for him to pick up.
“James! Long time no talk, my friend. How’s the property management business going?” Harrold asks with a good-natured laugh.
Property management, that’s my official story. I own eight different properties across Garden City and four down in the New Orleans area. I rent to the ultra-rich and the extremely poor.
Come one, come all.
I’ll give you a roof over your head and broken kneecaps if you don’t pay on time.
That’s honestly more for the rich though. I make sure all my property managers take care of the poor. No use in fucking the down-trodden even more than they already are.