Total pages in book: 26
Estimated words: 23332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 23332 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 117(@200wpm)___ 93(@250wpm)___ 78(@300wpm)
He ruffled my hair. “Good boy,” he praised, and I couldn’t stop the sappy little sigh that passed my lips. Then, he slipped from the room, and I knew he wouldn’t be coming back up to tell me goodbye. Because we didn’t do goodbyes. They felt too final to me and freaked me out.
Instead, I grabbed my burner phone and shot him a text.
Chet:
I love you.
William:
I love you, too. Be good.
Because I was feeling a little extra bratty since he was leaving me again, even though I knew it was for my own good, I responded:
Chet:
2
William
Malachi cocked his head to the side as he stared at the house where Chet had spent the most horrible years of his life. Thankfully, he hadn’t asked questions when I told him he was to tag along with me on Hyram’s orders to take out a cop. He just shrugged, said he’d done worse, and pulled his bike keys from his pocket.
Malachi wasn’t all there after suffering a pretty severe head injury overseas during his time in the military, but he was a good guy, and I could always rely on him to have my back. And I trusted him to protect Chet if I one day couldn’t. I hadn’t yet found a thing Malachi was afraid of, and that was the kind of person I wanted looking out for the most important person in the world to me.
I trusted all of the men in the Ghost Born MC, including the mother charter guys. It was the only reason I’d agreed to join when Rico urged me to so Chet would have a place to belong. And because of my connection to him, I’d skipped prospecting, and it thankfully gave Chet an automatic in as well.
“It’s always cops, ain’t it?” Malachi grumbled, looking at me. I simply arched a brow at him, wondering what the fuck he was on about now. He sighed in exasperation. “The shitheads. The ones you gotta worry about. Sure, there are decent ones, but there’s usually a cop involved somewhere you find mixed up in some shady shit.”
I nodded. He wasn’t wrong. And Chet’s father, Reynold Jasper, was one of the shittiest I’d ever come across. He’d targeted his son, treating him like shit for years, all because of his race. Didn’t matter he’d happily lain with an Asian woman, which produced Chet. It was why I always said proximity to someone outside of their race didn’t somehow make them not racist. And Reynold Jasper was a racist son of a bitch.
And I swore he’d made Chet’s mother disappear. Her disappearance was too suspicious. The cops had written off her missing person’s case as just a woman who didn’t want to be found, but they’d done so too quickly—like someone had made the case close. And when she’d gone missing, it had taken had Reynold too long to call other authorities. Mere months after she “left”, the missing person’s case was closed and the search for her ended.
The son of a bitch had even gotten paid time off during the time the case was open to “grieve”.
According to Chet, not long after his mother disappeared, the abuse began.
“So, how are we doing this? We doing it quick and simple, make it look like an accident? Are we tying him up, dragging him out, and killing him at another location, then hiding the body? I’m down for either.”
I grunted. “Accident,” I muttered.
He gave me a thumbs up and a wide grin. “I’ll be here as back up then.”
I sighed. I liked Malachi, but the guy could talk a lot.
Keeping to the shadows in the neighborhood, I made my way toward Reynold’s house. The back door was easy to get unlocked, and I slipped inside, making a motion for Malachi to stay outside and hidden. He disappeared into the shadows like smoke. Turning, I made my way through the house, my boots silent on the carpeted floor. I didn’t make a single track or a sound, and I even had my curly hair in a beanie so hair particles wouldn’t drop to the floor.
I’d promised my boy that I wouldn’t be taken from him, and I planned on keeping that promise.
Reynold was in his bed when I slipped into his room. Pulling the Devil’s Breath from my pocket—a drug made from scopolamine—I ripped the packet open and dropped it into his open mouth. The mother fucker truly was making this too easy for me.
The bastard swallowed instinctively in his sleep, and because I’d upped the dose, I knew it would take less than thirty minutes for it to take effect. I stood back, waiting with my arms crossed over my chest. After about twenty minutes, I tapped his cheek with my gloved hand. His eyes opened, and he frowned at me. I smirked. “Hello, Reynolds,” I murmured. “I need you to do me a favor.”