Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77124 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
“Fuck,” I groaned, dropping down into the cracked green leather office chair that had been my grandfather’s when he had this same office, and turned to face my computer.
Yet another passcode had me in, toggling on the only thing that existed on this computer. The saved recordings of the camera feeds.
I dialed it back to when I was last in the building, watching myself move around, double-checking my supply, unloading a few things from the SUV and into a fresh tub that was free of fingerprints, glancing around, then hitting the garage door to make my way out the back.
If I wasn’t looking for it, I might have missed it.
Right in the very corner of the screen after I walked around the corner to the alley between the buildings, where I couldn’t see the loading dock anymore.
A shadow moved, an arm extended, and a brick slid under the door before it could close, making it glitch and slide back up, the lights flashing. An emergency feature I never really gave a second thought to before.
“You fuckers,” I growled, watching as a minute or two later, likely when a scout said I was out of the area, a car pulled down the alley, then drove halfway up the ramp to the door, parked, and they climbed out.
They’d been smart enough to wear ski caps and gloves, but one of the guys was dumb enough to wear a short-sleeved shirt that displayed a tattoo.
I zoomed in when he came back out using my goddamn garden cart to carry guns out to their vehicle, his arm with the ink facing the camera.
“Got you, asshole,” I said, taking a screenshot of what appeared to be to be a flag, then putting it in a reverse image search.
And got… the fucking Czech Republic.
That was unexpected.
I mean, when you thought of big players in the criminal world you thought of the classics, of course. The Italian mafia, the Russian Bratva, and the South American cartels. And, sure, if you wanted to go for other established crews, there were the Irish mob, the Chinese Triad, the Japanese Yakuza. If we wanted to go a little more niche, even the Serbian and Lebanese were, you know, on my radar.
But a Czech crew?
That was way out of left field.
And I kept a finger on the pulse of any significant crime crews in the city since, well, they was most of my clientele.
Clearly, though, these assholes had slipped past my radar.
I mean, you had to be pretty ballsy to break into the warehouse of a known arms dealer. We weren’t exactly people who shied away from shooting someone.
But, obviously, they’d been watching me, getting to know my routine, and likely seeing that I was a bit of a loner by nature, so they probably thought they wouldn’t have much of a fight on their hands.
Well, they clearly hadn’t watched me enough.
Because having to liquidate some of my assets to pay back the fucking bikers was going to piss me right the hell off now that I had no way to pay them back with the sales by my deadline.
I watched the cameras for a couple more minutes after the car drove away, wanting to make sure there was no more activity, then I powered down my computer, grabbed a few extra guns, and made my way back out of the warehouse, hearing the incessant barking of the dog next door, and getting an idea.
“Hey hey hey, the fuck you think you’re doing, ma?” a man in a ribbed tee that didn’t quite fit him asked as he came rushing out of the building when I pulled open the fence they didn’t even bother to lock since the dog wasn’t exactly the friendly sort.
“I’m taking your dog,” I told him, reaching down for her collar.
“The fuck you are,” he shot back, a flash catching my eye in my peripheral. I knew the sun shining off a gun barrel when I saw it.
“Really?” I asked, producing my own with an eye roll. “You want to play it that way? I’ve been shooting since I was seven years old. Never missed a headshot in my life.”
His bravado deflated a bit at that. His hand even fell a few inches. But he wasn’t ready to give up that easily. “That’s my dog, man.”
I released her collar to reach into my pocket, pulling out a wad of cash. I didn’t even know how much it was. A grand, maybe. More than enough to buy or adopt another dog.
“And now she’s mine,” I said, tossing the cash halfway between the two of us, grabbing the dog, and walking her back to my building.
“Listen,” I said when she looked around the open space dubiously, “I know you’ve always been an outside dog. But, trust me, heat and air conditioning are the shit. Speaking of shit,” I said, wincing. “Well, we will just have to work on that, right?” I asked, rubbing her head. “Let me just get you settled for a bit,” I said, moving back around the warehouse, filling an old five-gallon bucket with water for her, then tossing a pile of leftover chicken nuggets from my office fridge onto the floor for her.