Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 94716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94716 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 474(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“You’ve got to be shitting me.” Sam exhaled, just as flabbergasted as I was.
“Not in the least. Fuck of it is, I should’ve known. Cat’s husband was a piece of shit. Never would he have done anything for her. Not willingly anyway. Another thing to look into then, I guess.”
“Yeah, definitely,” Sam said.
The vibration of Sam’s cell phone interrupted our conversation, and he frowned as he glanced down at the number. Putting it up to his ear he said, “Yeah?”
His face went utterly blank, every single line was smoothed until not one single emotion could be read on his face. “Adam’s place. What’re you doing here?”
His dad. In town.
Thoughts sped through my brain, and I knew that this could be the big break I’d been waiting for. If his dad was here, then he’d most definitely have some answers. Ones that I desperately needed.
“It better not be illegal. I swear to God, I’ll fucking hunt you down to the ends of the earth if it fucks up my life.” He insisted.
“Yeah, you better fucking hope so.” He spat, before throwing his phone like a missile at the couch before burying his face into his hands.
Deciding he needed some time, I went to the kitchen, then out the back door, heading towards the detached garage that Max had set up shop in. According to Max, the copious amounts of tools might come in handy.
“You do realize that even if you don’t give us anything, we’ll still find something. Either way you’re fucked.” Max said pleasantly.
I knew he hated doing this shit, but he’d do anything for a brother. That’s what we were to each other. Brothers.
“Fuck you.” He said painfully.
I’d probably broken his jaw with my punch to the face, but it looked like Max had done a little more in the time we’d been apart.
“Wrong answer.” He said just before he ripped out a chunk of his hair by the root.
Mr. Smoker’s screams turned to whimpers as Max ran the blade of his knife across his jaw line. “Shut up.”
Good thing Adam lived in the country. Otherwise, we would’ve had cops here in minutes.
The sound of water hitting the plastic tarp brought our attention to the man’s leaking bodily fluids.
“What the fuck? Grow some balls. Or maybe we should just take care of the ones you have instead. I’m helpful like that.” He said, just as he stabbed the knife through the crotch of his baggy jeans. Although he’d missed all the parts, as he’d intended, it was the threat that counted.
“Oh, God. He’s gonna fuckin’ kill me. Oh, God. It’s Edward Clayton, okay? Edward Clayton! He sent me to bring you to him.” He yelled urgently.
Surprisingly, the man was very informative. Although he was but an underling, he listened. He played dumb, but soaked up information like a fucking sponge. Hell, we had everything but his bank account numbers after he was through talking.
“Gonna let you go. How about you keep that mouth of yours shut. Just say we were never here. Got it?” Max said darkly.
Mr. Smoker nodded like a bobble head going over multiple speed bumps. Any harder and he’d be in jeopardy of losing his head. “You have any kids?” Max asked.
“Yeah, got two.” Mr. Smoker answered warily.
“How about a wife?”
“Yeah,” he all but choked on his terror.
“If you don’t want them to see your mutilated body, I’d stay the fuck away from here. I’m good with a knife. I’m sure that lovely wife of yours would love to have those balls of yours in a jar after you’re gone.”
As soon as Max had his restraints undone, Mr. Smoker got up very warily.
Piss soaked his entire bottom half. Blood streamed from three very precise cuts on his neck, cheek, and right forearm. I tossed the car keys I’d confiscated from him earlier. They hit him on the chest and fell to the ground. Right in the puddle of piss he left.
He stooped down and picked them up, then went to the side of the room to get his shoes. As soon as he made it to the garage door, he bolted.
“Got him?” Max asked.
I nodded. “Yeah. One in the keys, the car, his shoes, and his belt.”
“Good. Now, where the hell is Sam?” Max asked, while pumping some Fast Orange onto his hands, then wiped it off with a red rag.
The cleaner enabled you to wash the dirt and grease off your hands without soap, which was incredibly handy when a sink wasn’t always on hand. Also handy when you’re in the middle of a fucking desert. Or you torture someone and have no sink to wash the blood off.
“His Pop is coming. I’ll take left, you take right.” I said before wandering off into the dark.
Sam was right. It was cold out. Definitely frigid compared to normal Texas weather in January. Twenty-eight degrees with a wind-chill of eighteen definitely made for chilly balls.
I pulled out my phone and shot James a quick text to keep him informed just as I heard the sound of a car pulling up and the opening of two car doors, followed closely by the soft thunk of both closing. I stayed to the shadows, removing my Glock from the holster at my back and watched.
Two figures were standing beside the newer model Ford. One large and muscular, the other small and dainty. The large man reached for the smaller form, but she pulled her arm out of reach before he could get close.
“Don’t fucking touch me.” She snapped.
Her voice was husky. Not the pack a day kind of husky, but the hurt kind of husky. Like something happened that made it to where her voice just wouldn’t go up any higher than that.
“Shiloh,” Sam’s dad warned.
“Oh, go fuck a duck. I’m still mad at you. How could you?” Shiloh said with tears in her voice.
“There’s a lot you don’t know, darlin’,” He said, taking a deep breath. “Maybe one day you’ll understand.”
“Doubt it. How could you not tell me something this important? I could have had years with him. Years!” She finished on an ear-splitting scream.