Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
“Honest? Motherfucker please.” Her eyes widened as she took notice of that damn gun on his hip, and she was also shocked at her own words. She’d forgotten where she was for a split second. She was trying to play the role of a more subdued lady, but her mouth slipped. She braced herself for a slap. Or a grip to the back of her neck, slamming her head on the dashboard. Skin split open like a pea. Instead, he smirked as he picked up his cigar, inhaled, then exhaled hard enough for vapor to curl from both sides of his parted lips like a handlebar mustache. His mouth looked soft. But damn were his words and heart hard.
“Yeah, you’ve killed people, lady. There’s more than one way to slaughter someone, Honey. In your profession, you don’t even have to touch ’em. With me, they see it coming. With you, it’s a long, slow death. A digital demise, all in a day’s work.” His words got caught inside her chest like jagged ice that refused to melt. Instead, it got harder. Colder. More difficult to swallow and move. Something happened to him… he hates the press so badly. This isn’t his first time taking potshots. I wish I knew what it was. I could use it… “Here we are.” He pulled over to the side, in a rather mundane, industrial part of town. Where were they?
“All I see are closed buildings… and a few trees.”
“Look beyond that. To your right.”
She narrowed her gaze in the direction he was pointing.
“Is that a hospital?”
“It’s a clinic. Dr. Bannon.”
In the far distance was a three-story building with a few lights flickering. When she turned back around and faced him, he slipped a large, shiny black bow and arrow from under his seat and began messing with it… perhaps prepping it in some way.
She gasped. “What are you doing?”
“Giving Lucy a goodnight kiss.” And then, he pressed his lips to the bow and did just that.
“…So it’s true. They call you Archer because of this bow? You really use that as a weapon? I thought it was a joke. Are you serious?”
“Does it look like I’m kidding?” He slipped it back beneath the seat.
“But why?” Her handcuffs rattled as she waved her arms about in confusion.
“I was just drawn to it. When I was a kid, I wanted to be the Indian, never the cowboy.” His mouth turned crooked with a toothy grin. “Something about having that perfect aim… feeling the pressure and pull… the energy… watching your prey. Being patient. Waiting. And then… Swoosh! In the air it goes while they run and scream. But you already know they’re a goner because you timed it just right. If they move to the left—dead. If they move to the right—dead. If they jump in the air—dead. If they fall to the ground—dead. You timed it just so… in a way that nothin’ short of a miracle is going to save them. And I don’t believe in miracles.”
“Well, what do you believe in?”
“I don’t believe in much at all but death. Death is as real as it gets. None of us are getting out of this shit called life alive. Get out.”
“Huh?”
Her body rocked as he opened his door, got out of the car, walked around to her side and opened the door to let her out. He jerked her by her good wrist, then leaned her up against the car. He got in her face, their noses nearly touching. Her entire form broke out in a cold sweat, and she could practically hear the thump of her heart, in full orchestra, vibrating against her eardrums.
“One day soon, after I get you up to speed, you’re going to get inside of Bannon’s operation. You’re going to take pictures. You’re going to get your story. You’re going to get your boss to publish it, and you’ll get all of the credit for busting up one of the largest smuggling rings in Denver. You get to go on fuckin’ up people’s lives, one picture at a time, and I remove a thorn in my side once and for all. To me, that’s a good deal.”
“Operation? You said his name is Dr. Bannon, and it’s a clinic.”
“He’s a plastic surgeon, but he keeps shorter business hours now. His main claim to fame is as a fucking smuggler. He has tried to undermine my work for years. He doesn’t have shit on me and wants me removed. I’m better than him, in every single way, and he hates it. I’m the competition. He has no concern for others, and would slit his own mother’s throat to get ahead. Over the years, he’s sent people to try and make me disappear. He’s sent moles and rats, but I saw through it every time and sent them back to him in a body bag. Now, no one will touch anything that has to do with him designating anything in my direction. They call it a death wish, so he’s resorted to far less, shall we say, fair practices in our line of work. He’s been sending out-of-towners who don’t know any better… and that is why I thought he’d gotten smarter and sent you.” Their eyes locked. “Looks like I gave him too much credit. He has had some of my men killed, stolen our goods, and tried to extort me. You name it, he’s tried it.”