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)
Family photographs are scattered around the living room. I avoid looking too closely at those. Instead I fasten my jeans, check my gun to make sure I didn't fuck it up when it fell, and then I slip out the front door, locking it behind me. I already stole the hid-a-key she had in the carport. It was in the same damn spot it was when we were growing up. I told myself I only took it so no one else found it, but that was bullshit. I took it because I didn't want her to be able to keep me out.
The wind has picked up, sending clouds rolling quickly through the night sky. Half the streetlights are out on the block, leaving most of it in thick shadows. I pull out my phone and send myself a reminder to ride someone's ass about getting them fixed.
If January's going to stay here, she's going to be safe. With Kaleo trying to run her off, I don't want him to have any place to hide. If he comes near her, I want to see him coming so I can kill him. Part of me wants to do exactly that right now. But I'm not stupid. He might be, but he's also careful. He's just jonesing for a reason to spill my secrets.
When my sins come to light, it won't be because they were spoken from his lips. Not if I have any say in the matter.
I make my way around January's house, checking to make sure it's secure. She replaced the screen Trey pulled off her window, but it's not going to keep out anyone who really wants inside. Neither are the flimsy locks on the windows. She needs bars over them and bulletproof glass. I'm not naïve enough to believe she'll let me install either. She'll fight me the whole damn way, throwing a fit about the money.
She doesn’t know that I can easily afford it. I never got a chance to spill that truth.
Frowning, I pull out my phone and make a call.
"Hey, boss man."
"Kincaid?" Ames says, sounding like I woke him up.
"You're asleep before ten? What the fuck?"
His annoyed sigh speaks volumes. He's been working his ass off since Tristan’s wife was kidnapped.
"I need a favor."
"What do you need?" Ames asks.
"I need surveillance equipment."
"What kind of surveillance equipment?"
I pretend not to hear the suspicion in his voice. "I don't know," I huff, rolling my eyes. "The kind that surveils shit. Cameras and night vision and all that bullshit."
His silence speaks even more volumes than his sighs do.
"It's important," I tell him. "Lives might literally depend on it."
"Fuck," he mumbles. "Fine. I'll see what I can do. I'm guessing you want this off the record?"
"If I had a warrant, I wouldn't need surveillance equipment, Ames." Not that he'd be any more likely to give it to me then, either. You use a surveillance camera one time to take a selfie with a group of strippers, and suddenly, you're not allowed to have cameras without permission.
Not my fault my mark was living it up in a strip club. Or that the girls thought I was there to party. It wasn't exactly a fun time for me. One of those chicks stalked me for weeks. I had to arrest her crazy ass to get her to leave me the fuck alone.
"Should I be worried about this?" Ames asks in that no-bullshit tone he likes to use when he knows damn well whatever I'm up to probably isn't something he wants to know about but feels like he should know anyway. The man isn't big on surprises. He likes to be prepared in case things turn into a shit show.
"Don't know yet," I reply honestly. "Curtis Kaleo is up to some bullshit. I'm going to stop him."
He hits me with another of those loud silences.
“It’s important.”
“If you get yourself arrested, I’m going to be pissed.”
“Well, then, that’ll be two of us,” I mutter. “Orange isn’t my color.”
"Motherfucker. I'll see what I can do," he sighs.
"Thanks, boss man."
He's quiet for a minute. "You doing okay, Kincaid? I know being here isn't a walk in the park for you. If you need to talk to someone–"
"You can stow that shit, Ames. I'm not talking to a fucking shrink." Every damn time I got shot or stabbed or jumped those first few years, Ames dragged my ass in to see the psychologist to talk about my feelings and all that bullshit. They tried the same thing with Tristan once, but he told them to get fucked and fire him because he wasn't going. They didn't fire him, so now I do the same shit. To be honest, I'm kinda pissed I didn't think of doing that first. Could have saved myself and the shrink a lot of wasted time. "Besides, I'm fine."