Total pages in book: 123
Estimated words: 114819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114819 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
“Seriously. This dominatin’ thing isn’t gonna work for me.” Before Dev could get too far down the rabbit hole of his own irritation, the lights in the corridor switched on. Cash lifted his gaze toward the corridor. Two men rounded the corner, walking side by side toward them.
“Holy hell,” Dev muttered, getting to his feet. He wasn’t wrong. Each man was formidable in their own way, but together, they were almost too pretty a pair. “Are they related?”
“Don’t know,” Cash whispered, but they had to be. One was a slightly younger version of the other.
“Shit. They’re nice lookin’,” Dev muttered with annoyance and threw his hands in the air in that dramatic way he had of dealing with anything. “Had I known all this was waitin’ on the other side, I might’ve jumped the line a long time ago. Either one of those dudes will do just fine. You have my stamp of approval.”
Cash didn’t disagree. He couldn’t even find it in his heart to be jealous, because he was so caught off guard. The door opened. In walked two tall, dark, and handsome men. Muscular, street worthy, and substantially inked. Stunning seemed to be the best way to describe either one. They did fit Dev’s world.
“I’m Mitch Knox,” the older one wearing a black leather jacket said and stuck out a hand while still a pace or two away. “I’m guessing you’re Special Agent Ryan.” Mitch’s hand firmly squeezed his. “And you’re the notorious Devilman.”
Cash shifted his gaze, watching as Dev lowered his brow, leaving Mitch hanging for a second or two before taking his hand.
“Depends.”
Mitch’s grin split his lips. “Don’t tilt. I read the file on the way over this morning. You’re important to the case. But I have to say, as a US Marshall with Texas under my jurisdiction, we all know who you are. A legend in this town.”
Mitch cupped Dev’s hand, before patting him on the shoulder. Oh man, Dev didn’t need an ego-boost from anyone else. The biker’s chest expanded, pride showing on his face at the recognition.
“Now I got it. You’re the marshal that brought down that church—” Dev said, but Mitch cut him off.
“Yep, that’s me.” Mitch lifted his chin as his grin grew wider. Cash had no idea what the exchange meant.
“With the quarterback,” Dev added proudly, snapping his finger in some remembered memory. Both men grinned like the Cheshire Cat.
“And the only reason I gotta sit this one out. But my cousin’s all in.” Mitch angled his big body to include the younger man. The family resemblance was uncanny. “He’s better suited for the job anyway.”
“Trace Wakefield.” Trace reached out, executing the perfect dap slap with Dev. Where Mitch had an air of cocky professionalism, Trace and Dev were in immediate sync. Neither faltered in the artistry of the slap greeting, as if they’d been performing the same sequence for years. “I’m newishly employed in my uncle’s security firm.”
From all outward appearances, Trace did look the part. He had two sleeves, at least as far up as the short-sleeve shirt allowed him to see. His dark hair was cropped. Where Dev’s hairline left it questionable if the neck tattoos extended farther, Trace’s didn’t. Tendrils of the design were artfully inked up the side of his head, into the fade of his hair.
“Stop saying it like that,” Mitch huffed, his face turned instantly fierce in the way he frowned at Trace. “I tell you every fucking time. You make me sound old.” Mitch hooked a thumb toward Trace. “He and I aren’t that far apart in age. I’m the baby of my family. We’re more like cousins. I’m just more accomplished…”
“Right, Uncle Mitch,” Trace said, grinning ear to ear. Something about the endearment obviously messed with Mitch’s head. Clearly, he had an age complex. His brow furrowed into a full scowl.
“You can be fired as easily as you were hired, kid,” Mitch shot back.
“He fires me about every thirty minutes. So far, it hasn’t stuck. Might be why he’s shippin’ me off to Dallas though.” Trace pointed toward Dev. “I caught you on Ink Life. You’re badass, bro. I brought my portfolio for you to take a look. You inspired me to up my game.”
“You ink?” Dev asked, surprised.
“Yeah. If we move forward with all this, I’ve been told my cover is as your new apprentice. Which is nothin’ but sic on my end.” Trace looked genuinely pleased.
“I haven’t filled Dev in on the specifics of your possible undercover assignment yet,” Cash explained.
Dev whipped his head around, the accusation in the one syllable word, “Why?”
“You’re on a need-to-know bas—” The comment hit its mark. Dev’s hand slashed through the air, cutting Cash off from saying anything more.
“He’s got control issues.” Dev spoke directly to Trace, dismissing Cash. If only it were that easy.