Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
"My, ah," - my fuck buddy? Somehow that didn't feel right to say all of a sudden. "My woman got roughed up and almost raped by the bastard who owns the building she rents a space in for her salon. I need to know who he is, where he lives, and where I can find him right about fucking now."
Luce nodded, reaching into his back pocket for a cell, one I knew had not a damn thing on it but a search history that likely only went back that day. He tossed burners more often than drug dealers.
I rattled off the address, watching as he typed, looking around for a short minute. "Ethan Criss. Family money. Invested it in property which was a good move. Ah, has a house down on Ticon. Ha," he said, shaking his head. "Doesn't even have a security system. Stupid fuck. Number five. I think that's where you'd find him at this time. Need anything else?"
"The lease agreement he has with Kennedy."
He looked up at me, brow raised. "You sure you know what you're doing? I can see how hot you are. Not that you shouldn't be, but I'm making sure it isn't clouding your judgment."
Luce didn't get worked up.
Maybe it was a consequence of seeing nothing but the ugliness, filth, and cruelty humans were capable of, but it didn't matter what case he was working on, how the bastard he was after had brutalized other human beings, he was always chill about it.
I wondered, for maybe the first time in the ten-plus years I had known the guy, if he had ever seen any goddamn good in his life.
To be perfectly honest, I didn't think he had.
It never occurred to me how fucked that was before.
I knew he was right, I knew it was foolish to go in hot; I also knew that this was not something that could wait. I might not have known Kennedy that well, but I knew her well enough to know that when she woke up with a clear head, she was going to want to go to the cops. I needed to have everything handled before then.
"You worried about me?" I asked, smirk pulling at my lips. "I'm pretty sure I can handle myself. You've seen me in the ring."
"The problem there being, this guy isn't in a ring. He's going to freak out and scream. He lives in a nice neighborhood. They hear screams, they're calling the cops. I know he's got to pay, but maybe getting yourself locked up for Ag isn't what you need."
Ag. Meaning aggravated assault.
I wasn't sure yet if I was even going to stop there.
"I appreciate the concern, but whatever happens, is happening tonight. So get me the files and find me some blank ones too while you're at it."
With that, I walked out of the bathroom, finding Edison looking over Barrett's shoulder. Now Barrett, he was a 'personal space' kind of guy. Meaning, he didn't fucking want you in his. But he wasn't screaming at Edison.
"No, frate," Edison said, jabbing a finger at a piece of paper. "There. That."
"The fuck you doing?" I asked, brows drawn together. "Moonlighting as a private investigator now?"
Just as Edison was starting to speak, the printer clicked on and started spitting out the paperwork I demanded from Luce. "What's this?" Edison asked, picking up the pages and looking at them.
"Part of the plan," I told him, snatching the pages away, and moving toward the door. I knew that, in about an hour or two, there was going to be some serious questions from him, but I would deal with that after.
We drove off toward the destination, parking in his fucking driveway because, well, my car was nice and no one would think it was out of place there. Knowing there was no security system made sneaking in through the garage literally something a child could do.
It was late, the house quiet, making us cringe at the sounds of our boots across his pristine tile floor. I wasn't sure how much family money he had or how many properties he invested in to make it work for him, but whatever he had done business-wise was working for him. The house was worth one-point-five easily. The car in his drive was another hundred K. His suit when I had seen him at Kennedy's was a couple grand, as was the watch. The man made bank.
Normally, you would find that admirable.
But too fucking often in my life, I found the biggest monsters lived behind gates, surrounded by beautiful things to mask their ugly souls.
I reached into my pocket, handing the papers to Edison as we stopped near the staircase. "In case I'm too fucking bloody to touch them," I said at his lowered brow. To that, understanding completely, he pocketed the papers, and we moved up the stairs.