Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
"Someone has to do it," I mutter, not bothering to tell him my sordid life story. Not telling him about her. Some shit is better left alone. "And no offense to you because I don't know shit about you, but in my experience, most of you don’t give a flying fuck about gangs and MCs until their shit spills over and dirties up your pretty neighborhoods and fancy malls. You’re too goddamn afraid to give a shit."
Ames arches a brow but doesn't seem pissed by my truth bomb. I say what the hell and keep talking.
"You want to fix the problem?"
Ames nods.
"Put people on the streets who know how the fuck that type of life works. Give them the resources they need to do what needs to be done, and then let them do it. Because guys like Calvin Titus and Whitey Banks aren't fucking scared of cops. They never will be, not when they know you’re so fucking afraid of them.”
I don't stick around to see what else he has to say. Instead, I take off down the street, leaving him standing there.
He tracked me down at my place the next morning and had me in Quantico a month later. Figured they'd have fired my ass a long time ago, but turns out…I'm also the only son of a bitch on their payroll most of these motherfuckers will talk to.
I've been shot, stabbed, and beaten so many times I feel like Rasputin. Death would have been easy compared to the shit I've seen and done, but so long as January was alive…I wasn't willing to take the easy way out. I fought like hell to survive each and every time someone crept out of the shadows to try to take me down.
I came back like a fucking demon and ripped their shit apart every damn time they tried.
I’m the thing lurking in the dark that even the monsters are afraid of. I should have been here instead, taking care of my girl, but I didn't deserve that privilege then.
I deserve it even less now.
"I'm so fucking sorry, baby girl," I whisper, brushing my lips across her temple. Pulling her comforter and top sheet back, I lay her in the bed. It takes all the self-control I possess to keep myself from stripping the rest of my clothes off and crawling in beside her. But I can't do that yet. Until I deal with Kaleo, someone has to keep an eye on her property.
She said she was willing to die for it, but I will never let that happen. If either of us is going to bleed for her home, it'll be me. I owe her that much.
She mumbles my name in her sleep, a little furrow between her brows.
I smooth it out with my finger and then tuck the blankets around her.
"I'll be back soon," I promise her. And then I carry my ass out of her room before I lose the willpower to leave at all.
Unlike her bedroom, the rest of the house hasn't changed much. I carefully avoid looking at the door across the hall, or the one just down from that. Instead, I keep my eyes on the floor until I'm in the living room.
Her furniture is different. The leather sofa is deep and plush, even though it's worn. The flat screen TV hanging on the wall is new. Unless she's changed more than I know, I doubt it gets much use. She was never big on watching television, preferring to read instead.
That was one of the things I always loved most about her. She read every book she could get her hands on. Watching her get lost in a story fascinated me. When she was little, she'd bring me and Titan her story books and ask us to read to her. She was so cute with those big emerald eyes and that hopeful expression. I never told her no. Even if she asked me to read The Monster at the End of This Book fifteen times in a row, I never refused. She would clap her hands and hide her face and giggle through the entire book, no matter how many times I read it to her.
I loved every second of it.
When she learned to read for herself, I missed being the one to make her so fucking happy. I'd find a reason to be near her, just so I could watch her cute little face. She was so expressive when she read, her emotions blazing right there on those delicate features. I ate it up.
I think I fell in love with books because of her. Because they gave me an excuse to talk to her. I got to share something with her that she loved.
It's been a long time since I allowed myself to pick up a book. Words hurt when the woman I wanted to share them with was two states away.