Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99040 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Tracker called her name as she walked down the porch steps and into the torrential downpour. She didn’t bother to answer, just sprinted to her car. By the time she got there, she was soaked to the bone, shivering and seething.
Andrew’s text came through with the address. According to her map program, she should be there in twenty minutes.
As she drove away from the clubhouse, she glanced in her rearview mirror. Between the dark, the rain, and the distance, she couldn’t see Tracker standing on the porch. But he was there. She felt it.
He’d be standing right there, arms folded, frowning after her.
It was then she remembered what was happening in a few short hours.
Tracker and the rest of the guys would be putting themselves in serious danger. If it went to shit, he could end up in jail, injured or worse.
For fuck’s sake, he could die.
And their last words to each other would have been ugly and spiteful.
“Shit!” she shouted as she smacked the steering wheel.
As the miles passed, visibility declined. The wind whipped so fast, her car became difficult to control. Jo was the only idiot white-knuckling it down the highway. When she veered off at the exit as per the GPS, which she somehow had not lost yet, she sighed. An enormous puddle encompassed the entire two-lane road in front of her.
“Please don’t get stuck,” she whispered as she inched forward. She was going to end up the dummy on the news who had to abandon their vehicle in six feet of water. The one everyone watching mocked and shook their head at, wondering why anyone would drive through standing water like that.
Maybe they were all trying to rescue their injured partners during a hurricane.
She took it as slowly as possible, letting the car roll without giving it any gas. Her heart hammered in her chest the entire time. She squinted her eyes, trying to see through the heavy sheets of rain.
A loud clap of thunder made her jump and yelp.
“God, this sucks,” she whispered.
Twice, the car lost traction, and she swore she’d float away but managed to regain the SUV’s grip on the road. Her knuckles ached from clutching the steering wheel, and her head was beginning to throb.
“In fifty feet, turn right onto Campbell Drive,” the pleasant voice directed from her phone.
“Turn right?” She strained to see in that direction. “Is there even a turn?”
“Turn right now,” the phone stated.
“Here goes nothing.”
As she turned, she was able to see enough to note that there was, in fact, a road.
“Your destination is on the right in one-quarter mile.”
“Oh, thank God.” She kept the rolling pace, swerving around downed branches and debris. Water stood at least three inches on the road, splattering out in an arc from her wheel wells. She’d left the music off so she wouldn’t have to blast it over the roar of the wind and rain.
After a few moments, she rolled up to Andrew’s place. For the life of her, she couldn’t tell what it looked like, but a lit window helped her make out where to go. Water ran down his sloped driveway, and a few of his trees swayed too close to the house for comfort.
If they couldn’t safely drive back out, poor Andrew would be stuck suffering with an untreated ankle for who knew how long, and they’d be stuck in a potentially unsafe house.
Jo took a breath, then opened her door. Rain immediately soaked the side of her seat. She jumped down, splashing into at least three inches of water. Instantly, her shoes filled with water. She’d been outside for two seconds, and already her hair was plastered to her face, and her clothes hung heavy and wet.
Sloshing through the water as fast as possible, she made it up to his door. She didn’t bother knocking, just burst into the small home.
“Andrew?” she shouted as a loud clap of thunder boomed, and the lights went out.
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
DANTE LOOKED LIKE shit. Swollen eyes, a busted lip, disheveled hair, drooping shoulders, blood-soaked clothes. The man who’d caused so many problems for the Handlers no longer existed. Spec had done his job and broken him down, making him obedient and timid.
He sat opposite Tracker in the back of Curly’s dark SUV, staring into the raging storm. Occasionally, he spoke, giving the next direction, which Tracker had to repeat as he spoke so low it was barely audible over the hurricane.
They’d left his hands and feet tied as a precaution, but the guy could barely blink, let alone escape. Still, better to be safe than fucked.
“Can’t see a goddamn thing,” Curly grumbled as he navigated downed branches in the empty streets.
Spec glanced over his shoulder. “How much farther?”
Dante didn’t answer.
“Hey, asshole, need me to shake it out of you? How much longer?”
“’Bout two miles.” The words came out slightly slurred.