Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
The war raging through Atlanta isn’t just about drugs—it’s about power, leverage, and survival. God and Day’s task force is the only barrier standing between a growing plague and the city’s safety.
Wes and Law, childhood friends turned blacklisted pyrotechnic rivals, are hiding out in Atlanta until the fire they started in Hollywood is extinguished.
It seemed like a safe choice—until they’re dragged into the task force’s frontline fight. Now they’re trading cinematic special effects for real explosions and blood in the streets.
God and Day’s team is fracturing under secrets and betrayal, as the merciless army of their fiercest kingpin yet slowly closes in.
They used to fight to conquer… now they’re just fighting to survive
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
“Come on, man, cut me some slack. I’m asking for you to do me a solid.”
Law hated the plea and desperation in his voice, but he held eye contact.
“It’s a Honda Super, and she’s hardly two years old. All I want is eight thousand. She’s worth—”
“I know. Twenty-five. You already told me.” The bratty-looking kid rolled his eyes, then walked around to the other side of the bike. “Why are you selling it?”
None of your business.
“I’m moving overseas, and I can’t take everything. My Harley made the cut. The Super didn’t,” Law lied.
He’d sold the Harley last year to pay off three of his credit cards. Now he had nine paid and only two more to go.
“I’ll give you five thousand,” the guy countered.
Law shifted to the other foot to keep from cocking his fist back and punching the brat in his face. The number he’d just thrown out was an insult.
Law bit his bottom lip, staring down at his baby girl. He wanted to run his palm over the soft leather seat as she sat gleaming under the bright sunshine. She was all black on black, sleek, and outlined in sharp edges. A reflection of how he saw himself.
“That’s bullshit, and you know it. We talked about the price before you got here. Eight thousand. Come on, man, you’ve been staring at it for fifteen minutes.”
“This thing could be hot for all I know. You live on this shitty street, and you’re sporting a shiner on that left eye.”
The kid pulled out a pack of Camels and leaned against his silver GT-R to light up while Law stood there sweating under the hot Atlanta sun.
“I have the title right here. You know it’s legit. I’m not taking less than eight, dude.”
Law clenched his teeth, gripping the DMV document and bill of sale so tightly he was probably ruining them.
He hated that he had to do this, but desperate times and all.
Law had been on top before, and he’d been knocked down plenty, so he knew how to pull himself back up. But pricks like the one in front of him made his blood boil.
Law stared the man down, who wasn’t even respecting him enough to look him in the eye as they negotiated.
Damn, he loathed rich bastards.
Law had money too—well, he used to—but he’d never acted like a pretentious asshole.
The guy held his arm up and motioned for a slim man waiting in a Ford pickup with a bike trailer attached to pull around front to load it up.
Law released a slow breath and played it cool because he didn’t want Richie Rich to see his relief. He desperately needed this money.
“Seven is my final offer. Take it, or I can head over to a used lot. This is a birthday gift for my stepbrother, so it’s nothing. I’m not spending eight grand on him.”
The guy Law was haggling with couldn’t’ve been any older than twenty-five, but of course, he carried himself as though he’d lived a lifetime and had all the power in the world.
He wore shredded denim jeans that stopped just above his expensive boots, and his jacket was leather and white, of all colors.
His sunglasses cost more than Law’s rent, and he knew that because he’d hocked his own pair just like them six months ago.
Law turned away and ran his hand through his hair that he hadn’t bothered to comb this morning. Instead of yanking himself bald, he shoved his hand into his pants pockets and took out an ink pen.
If he didn’t get two grand to Brosino by the end of the week, he was going to end up another loan shark statistic.
Law stared at the buyer with all the contempt he could muster before he finally relented and stuck his hand out. He hurried and scribbled the new amount on the bill of sale and initialed it.
At least he’d eat something besides ramen and hot dogs tonight.
“Just take it.”
Law thrust the papers into the bastard’s hand and snatched the envelope. He fingered the crisp bills while his bike was being walked up the trailer ramp by a man who was probably the kid’s personal assistant.