Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75107 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 376(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Hell, half the people there might know exactly who I was, if they were in criminal defense. Because what defense attorney worth their salt didn’t know all the different criminal organizations in their area?
But she asked.
So I was going.
Case closed.
Even if she was right; I didn’t have a nice suit.
What I did have was a lot of experience with others who knew all about nice suits. I knew exactly where I needed to go to get what I needed. Even if I knew I’d feel like a damn imposter wearing one.
As if that shit wasn’t enough, catching Steph when she’d almost landed on her ass, then having her look up at me with those big, dark eyes for a second too long to be casual… yeah.
I was thankful for the December cold as I made my way back to the warehouse because it kept my cock from acting on the thoughts swirling around my head.
Thoughts I really needed to not be having about the woman whose organization held my potential promotion in her hands. Even if she had no idea.
I was just about to unlock the warehouse door when I saw something off toward the side where the loading dock was located that just seemed, I dunno, off.
Curiosity piqued, I tucked the key back away and reached for my switchblade instead. I flicked it open, the sound loud to my ears as I moved closer to something on the ground just out of reach of the streetlight.
It wasn’t until I was almost on it that I knew what it was.
A person.
Out cold on the pavement.
A small pool of blood was behind him as I rushed forward to press my fingers into his neck.
He had a pulse.
It was right then that I noticed what he was wearing.
A badge.
For the trucking company I was supposed to be waiting for.
He was the driver.
He’d come early.
And someone had clearly been waiting.
It wouldn’t be that big of a deal if it was just the damn toys. But that truck? That had the Family’s merch in it.
“Fuck,” I growled, jumping back to my feet and running out toward the street.
My head was on a swivel, hoping to spot the damn truck before it got too far away.
“Motherfucker,” I growled.
I broke into a run, heading off with traffic, knowing it would be hard for a truck to turn left with as much traffic as was still on the roads.
My feet slid, my pulse quickened, and my anger grew with each block I passed with no sight of the damn thing.
Until, at an intersection, I caught the taillights of a white truck as it turned into what looked like a lot or alley.
Bingo.
Flexing my fingers on the knife to keep them from going to sleep, I ran harder until I was at the edge of the building, waiting, listening for a second.
When I heard nothing, I peeked around the corner, spying the truck sitting there, engine huffing exhaust up into the air in an endless cloud.
Were they going to stop to empty it here?
I glanced back around, looking for a second truck or car hanging around, waiting to steal the loot.
But there was nothing unusual. Just parked cars. Just people heading home or heading out to holiday parties.
What was my move here?
As if to answer, I heard music spill out of the alley.
I waited a second before glancing, seeing the driver’s door slightly ajar and a jean-clad leg sticking out.
I didn’t stop to think.
I didn’t call for backup.
I was too accustomed to working alone, to making life-or-death and career-changing decisions on the fly.
There was no time to fuck around.
I flew down the alley, knife in hand, and made a beeline for the driver’s side of the truck.
My free hand shot out, grabbing the door, whipping it open, and using it to haul myself up.
If he’d had the common sense to watch his rearview mirror, he’d have seen me coming.
As it was, I heard the intake of his breath, saw the way his whole body jolted.
These guys, though, they weren’t just some opportunists.
Random joes didn’t come prepared for a fight, and that was a gun sitting in one of the fucking cupholders.
The driver’s hand shot outward toward it, fingers closing around it before I could react.
Inwardly, I cursed, knowing this job had just taken a sharp turn sideways.
Because I only had one move here.
I cringed at the shit I was going to get for it, then lifted my hand, and sank my knife into the bastard’s carotid.
I pulled back from the spray, knowing I’d have a big enough mess to clean up already.
As I did so, a movement caught my eye.
Then there was the passenger, wide-eyed, mouth agape, not sure how his payday went from an easy job to murder.
I noted him.
Tall, oval face, a cross tattoo on the side of his neck—cold, brown eyes, and a mole on his right cheek.