Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
“Cooper,” he growled. He’d had enough time to come down off his high now, but not enough to rest and recover. Marsh Jackson was not a happy camper. “You talk to anyone else yet? They kept me in solitary all night. The Nighthawks should’ve sent a lawyer by now—they’d better have a good fucking excuse.”
“Yeah, about that,” I said, walking slowly toward him. “There’s gonna be a problem.”
Marsh’s eyes narrowed. “What the fuck? Did you talk to Talia? She’ll fix shit, you just have to give her the right orders.”
“Nope,” I told him, flexing my fingers. “But we got another issue. More important.”
“Nothing’s more important, you fucking—”
I slammed him into the concrete block wall, one arm across his throat, knocking the breath right out of his body. Then I let him choke out for a few seconds. Wanted to be sure he was paying attention.
“Time to listen up,” I said, my voice low. “You fucked up. You stole from the Reapers, and we don’t like that. Not even a little bit.”
“What?” he asked, rage flickering in his eyes. Wasn’t sure he quite understood the situation just yet, but he was pissed.
“My name is Gage. I’m a member of the Reapers MC and we’ve been watching you for a while. Here’s what happens next. First I’m gonna hurt you. I’d like to do more, but that would fuck up step two, which is the part where I walk out of here a free man while you sit and rot. Then I’ll go join the rest of my brothers and we’ll take back our town. Good story, isn’t it? I particularly like the happy ending.”
Marsh rattled the chains, glaring at me. “Big bad Reaper, beating up a man who can’t fight back. Nice.”
Then he spat in my face.
I blinked, offering a slow smile.
“Did Sadie fight back?” I asked softly. “Or was that one unfair, too?”
With that, I brought my knee up hard, slamming it into his crotch. Marsh bellowed in pain and I let him drop, enjoying the sight of him rolling around the floor. I stepped to the side and used the back of my hand to wipe the spit off my face. Then I kicked him in the lower back—kidney shot—and his body arched the other way. They’d said not to cause serious damage, but I wasn’t wearing my boots. He should be fine.
Or not.
Either way, I’d be out of here before they figured it out, and Coales could blackmail the guards into keeping their mouths shut. Gotta love the American justice system. I leaned back against the wall, relaxing but still alert in case he recovered. After long minutes, Marsh turned his head toward me, hatred burning deep and hot in his eyes.
Fair enough—the feeling was mutual.
“You’ll pay for this,” he spat out, blood on his lips. “You. The Nighthawks. All the fucking Reapers and their families. Even the fucking waitresses you tip should be afraid, because if they’re connected to you, they’re on my list.”
I laughed.
“Good luck with that, Jackson.”
He spent the next minutes glaring at me, as if he could set me on fire with his eyes if he just tried hard enough. Sadly for him, I didn’t burst into flames, so I guess he needed to practice that particular superpower a little bit longer. Then the door opened. Graves stood outside with two more officers—the same ones who’d brought Marsh. He smiled at the sight of Marsh huddled on the floor.
“He attacked me,” I said blandly.
“Looks like self-defense,” he replied. “We’ll find a safer place for you to wait out your processing. Sorry about the mistake.”
• • •
Half an hour later, I walked out into the parking lot, and despite the fact that I’d spent the night in jail, I felt better than I had in a long time. No more fucking lies, no more eating shit.
Horse and Ruger were right there, just like Coales had promised. Horse was a big fucker, and when he caught me up in a tight hug, he nearly broke a rib.
“Missed you, brother,” he said, his voice serious for once. “We were worried about you up there. We’re gonna clean house tonight. Pic wants to talk, and then we’ll call the Nighthawks who aren’t locked up together. Wants a full report on everyone, to see if any of them are worth salvaging.”
Together we walked toward my bike.
Fuck, it looked good.
The way it was supposed to. For one thing, they’d put the whips back on, and the custom bell I’d gotten from my dad right before he died. Then Ruger handed me a carefully folded leather vest. My colors, with my road name on the front, and Reapers MC across the back. I pulled it on, savoring the smell of the leather, and for the first time since I’d arrived in Hallies Falls things were right again.