Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79020 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 395(@200wpm)___ 316(@250wpm)___ 263(@300wpm)
"That was unnecessary," I say, knowing Ace can hear every word that has come out of my mouth since I entered the bar.
The conversation with the woman was all they needed to storm into this place. Their arrival tells me that Tommy Wilkinson had arrived and was in the back since I got here.
"Sick fuck," a cop says as he pushes my head down onto the bar top.
After I'm cuffed, I watch as he grabs the card with the QR code on it and shoves it into his pocket. He'll either give it over to Ace or he'll keep it. I pray he does the former because the latter means we have an even bigger problem to deal with.
I'm standing to the side as the other officers place the other customers in handcuffs. I know they're doing it for their own safety. Hell, I was stabbed just a few days ago without provocation. There's no telling how dangerous anyone in here could be.
Jersey glares at me, much like he always does, when he's urged to stand and placed in cuffs, but it's Wilkinson being pulled from the back in cuffs that draws all my attention. I want to lunge at the man, to demand he tell me where the hell Zara is, but I keep my mouth shut, reminding myself the cops have a job to do.
It doesn't stop me from picturing my knife digging into the officer's skin when he roughly shoves me toward the door. Outside, he slams me against a patrol unit.
"You motherfucker," I growl.
"Shut the fuck up," he snaps back before opening the back door of the cruiser and doing that cop thing where he presses down on my head as he forces me into the backseat.
I've seen and done some terrible shit in my life. I've had some experiences that nearly the entire population of the world will never have, but this is a new one for me. I've never been handcuffed nor arrested, and I don't like the way it feels, knowing my life could've easily taken this turn had I not learned to use those demons inside of me differently.
The passenger side door opens and Jersey is shoved inside, and his presence here ruins fucking everything. I was supposed to be taken away by myself, making it look like I was arrested. With him here, it means I might just get the full arrest experience.
A cop, different from the one that slammed me against the car, climbs into the driver's seat, pulling away from the bar without any fanfare.
I fully expect him to drive into town and take us to the police station for booking, but he takes the same fucking path I would take to the house, pulling up outside where my bike, already having been transported back to the house after I climbed off it in the parking lot hours ago.
I swear if this cop pulls me out of this back seat with that other man sitting there, blowing my cover, all the while disclosing where we live… But before I can even get the thought formed, Jersey lifts his hands in front of him, a wide smile on his face as he rubs his wrists where the cuffs used to be.
He grins in my direction as he holds up a handcuff key.
I know he can read the weeks of what the fucks on my face.
"Need a hand?"
Chapter 30
Zara
It shouldn’t be taking me so long to pack and move on, but I'm well aware of why I'm dragging my feet.
He's the reason I haven't just thrown the last of my shit into a box and stuffed it into the small pull-behind rented trailer I went into town and got earlier today.
It's late, the sun having gone down many hours ago. The visit from Tommy yesterday seems like a distant memory, as if it happened longer ago than it really did.
It means it feels like weeks rather than two days since I saw Hemlock.
The anger has faded and it has left me wishing things were different and wondering what choices I could've made that would've left me in his path.
Was quitting the bar the right choice?
Should I have stuck around a little longer?
Is he constantly thinking of me the way I am thinking of him?
I know the answer to that. I've deduced from the half-assed conversation I had with him that he was focused on Tommy and that man's wrongdoings, and I was just a means to an end for him. He probably thought I knew more than I did. When he realized that Tommy hadn't told me anything, I became useless to him. I feel like garbage tossed out of a car window late at night when no one would be around to see the crime being committed.
I look around at the room, empty of everything but the couch I plan to sleep on tonight before leaving town in the morning. If I hadn't wanted to start completely over like I did when I left Kentucky a few months ago, I wouldn't have even needed the tiny U-Haul trailer. I could've easily put all of my worldly belongings in the backseat and trunk of my car. The minimal amount of possessions would be the goal of some people, but, for me, it feels like a failure, like I've lived this entire life and don't have a damn thing to show for it.