Total pages in book: 170
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160166 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 801(@200wpm)___ 641(@250wpm)___ 534(@300wpm)
“It’s going to be all right.” Nate sounds sure of himself. “They don’t have anything.”
I haven’t forgotten the last time I was alone with Nate. The visual of him killing Scarlet creeps into the back of my mind and I find myself scooting closer to the window.
“Hey, it’s going to be okay. You don’t have to worry,” he tells me again and this time I peer over at him to find him glancing between the road and me. “It’s going to be all right,” he reassures me again.
I can’t help but see Scarlet again and all the events unfolding. It’s hard to breathe and I have to close my eyes. It plays out in my mind, beginning to end, as if no time at all has passed.
One breath in and one breath out.
“You want to change the station?” Nate asks after a minute.
All I know is that I can’t afford to forget who these men really are. I can’t let myself believe that everything really will be okay. I stare down at the black velvet box. This is my life now and I honestly don’t know that I have much of a choice about any of that.
“No thank you,” I tell Nate. I whisper as I stare out of the window, begging my mind to think of anything else. “The music’s fine.”
DECLAN
The interrogation room feels almost like a second home now. Hell, they should put my name on the damn door and reserve it for my ass.
The metal door opens and slams shut. I don’t bother to lift my gaze from the table; I know exactly who it is who’s walked in. His heavy breathing gives it away.
Mauer is a bigger prick than I could have imagined. There’s a slight yellow tinge to his teeth that reminds me of my father’s friends growing up.
The question that irritates me the most is how the hell did I not know about this fucker?
With reddened cheeks that hang just slightly with his older age, and dark bags under his eyes, Mauer looks like shit. Sleepless nights and anger coat his expression. He narrows his eyes, “You’re not going to get away with it.”
Heat licks across my skin as anger threatens to come to the surface. Half of his notes had whereabouts for meetups with our business partner N. Half were about Scarlet and my Braelynn.
Scarlet was his informant but she knew shit she shouldn’t have. There are two possibilities:
There’s another rat, which is what my gut is telling me.
Someone gave Scarlet information…which could have been my unsuspecting Braelynn.
I swallow thickly as I lean back in the metal chair. The two front feet come off the ground just slightly and I let it fall back down to the ground recklessly.
“Get away with what exactly? Suspicion of arson is what you got me on…which is weak as fuck. Given I have a solid alibi and you just decided it was me—” I lean forward, clasping my hands and giving him a look of pity as I add, “That’s not how the law works.”
I shouldn’t be saying shit, but I’m pissed.
Today was all for my girl. To give her the world and spoil her and make sure she knows she’s protected. And then this dumb fuck showed up…rage simmers in my blood.
“Listen here you little shit. I know every fucking move your family has taken. Every associate, every dime that’s been funneled and washed, every time you pieces of shit jaywalked,” he huffs in a rushed breath to practically sneer, “I only let it go so I could get to the bigger fish.”
My lip quirks a twitched smile, I know he’s full of shit. There is no bigger fish and both of us know it. We own the whole fucking coast. If he knew everything, he’d sure as fuck know that.
I let my knuckles rap on the table, finding myself falling into Carter’s habit. His gaze flinches down to my hand. He’s nervous. The detective shows signs of spiraling. Either from having a personal loss, or maybe from losing his book of bullshit on us. Maybe, like the two cops who worked for him, he might be losing the case.
“I really wish I could help you, but I have no fucking clue what you’re talking about,” I tell him, sitting back in my seat once again.
He rolls his shoulders and the wrinkled suit stretches over his broad frame. Mauer takes a moment to crack his neck and all the while I wait. If his clenched fist is anything to go by, he’s going to punch me.
That would be all too easy for me though. A restraining order against him would seal the deal. His gaze meets mine, narrowed and enraged, telling me he’s all too aware of that fact.
He’s yet to sit. Leaning over the table, knuckles of both fists against the metal, he tells me, “We know the money coming into that bar isn’t the money going out.”