Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96978 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 485(@200wpm)___ 388(@250wpm)___ 323(@300wpm)
“Fine. Remember to tell the hacker to run background checks on all her help. All of them are coming up way too clean, like not even outstanding parking tickets,” he rattles on as I look down at my boots.
“You don’t think this is Mike Zane, do you?” I had to say it because I’ve thought this for a while now.
“I didn’t say that. But this is why we need a pro, someone we can trust is key. Christ, here comes fucking Rachel with the designer, and she looks like she has a different assistant. See, this is what I’m talking about, have everyone checked.”
“Look, Ace, you just focus on Courtney, I want you with her at all times, I’ll take care of the rest,” I demand in the phone, my head already throbbing, I need either coffee or fucking Jäger since I don’t have Courtney with me right now to take the edge off.
“Don’t be late for the Grammys,” he grumbles.
“Just protect Courtney, I’m going in.” Looking over at the bearded Disciple who’s waving me in, I hang up, ignoring a couple Disciples who mumble Stuffed Pussy as I pass.
I grin at them as I enter the house. Not much has changed, the smell of booze and smoke is the first thing that envelops you, the beige walls and loud music just accessories.
Tons of Disciples are milling around, the sound of the balls cracking on the pool table and laughter makes me look to the right. Everyone seems to be drinking and laughing, as well as their women who are all smiles as I walk past.
The bearded one holds his hand up for me to wait again as he knocks on a black wooden door.
My eyes take in the darkened hallway, moving up to the camera. Fucking dicks I’m sure are just sitting in there watching me.
They’ve definitely gotten serious about security since the last time I was here. But hey, if it allows them to sleep at night, good for them.
The door opens, slightly, and a blond surfer-looking dude blocks my entrance, his eyes narrowing as he stares at me.
The fuck?
And just when I’m about to tell him to get out of my way, he nods and grins, opening the door wider.
“Ammo, huge fan,” he says as he brings a joint to his lips. Fucking Disciples, this guy looks all Zen, something tells me he’s not, but neither am I—nor am I in the mood for shit.
“Smoke?” He holds out his joint as I move to go around him.
“Not now, brother.” Walking into the darkened room filled with monitors, old neon beer signs, and a giant wooden table, it takes a moment for my eyes to adjust.
“Ammo.” Blade stands up from the head of the table that’s littered with chips and guacamole and bottles of tequila.
“Blade.” My eyes drift around the table. Axel sits to Blade’s left, feet propped up on the end of the table leaning back in his chair, a big smile on his face.
Christ, Axel can be an ass, it’s like he just thrives on it, but I fucking need him. So I dig into my pockets for my cigarettes, looking to the right at Ryder, who’s frowning at me.
Ryder’s the enforcer…and what that really entails I don’t need to know. But he’s at least six five and has this look in his eyes as if he would easily put a bullet in my head, then sit back down to continue eating his chips and salsa.
“What’s up, man? Isn’t the Grammys today?” Edge walks over and fist bumps me.
“Good to see you, brother, I hear your wife’s partner is Courtney’s hairstylist.” He nods and grins.
“Yeah, we’re all very proud of Doug. Dolly was actually going to help him today, but our youngest was puking all night.”
“The fuck, man, the girls were hanging out with them yesterday.” Axel’s feet drop to the floor with a thud.
“Kids get shit,” Edge states, staring at Axel.
“Fuck that, you should have said something. I hate the fucking stomach flu more than anything.” Axel starts texting. And I can’t help but smile, Axel is literally not afraid of anything, except the stomach flu.
Fantastic.
“Alright, we’re getting off topic.” Blade holds up his hands. “What’s up, Ammo? Take a seat.” Blade motions with his head to the empty seat next to a blond Disciple who has a strong resemblance to Blade.
“Well, I need your help. I’m producing Courtney Falcon’s next album and she’s got a stalker who somehow got into her house—and now the studio this morning.” I light up my cigarette as Edge leans over to hand me the bottle of tequila.
“And?” Blade folds his arms as Axel sighs and tosses his phone onto the table.
“So, I could hire a PI, but something doesn’t feel right. I need to be able to trust whoever does this. I want everyone she’s ever been associated with looked up.”