Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 95164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 95164 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 476(@200wpm)___ 381(@250wpm)___ 317(@300wpm)
I am going to make him sorry, though.
Kynan’s hand squeezes my shoulder, bringing me out of my thoughts. “You cool?”
“I’m cool. Not going to kill him.”
“Okay,” he says, dropping his hand. “Want me to come in?”
“Nope,” I respond as I open the door and get out of my Range Rover. I look at Kynan across the console and assure him, “This shouldn’t take long.”
Kynan nods and I shut the door, not worrying about the way my lips want to quirk upward in anticipation. After I’d received all the intelligence I needed about Jayce, I decided to pay him a visit. I think Kynan knows I won’t kill him, but he insisted on coming with me. Kynan has my back though, and he didn’t come to stop me from doing something I would regret. Despite his warning me against doing so, he really came to help me hide the body in case I lose my cool.
That’s a good bud right there.
I walk up to the trailer, scanning the windows, but they’re all covered with lowered blinds from the inside. Up three rickety wooden steps and then I knock on the door.
Either Jayce has no worries or he’s just plain stupid—the latter, I’m thinking—but the door swings open wide without any hesitation. The first thing I notice is that his eyes flare wide with shock. I take him in quickly, gathering just the barest details to assess the situation. He’s gotten fat for sure. And sloppy. He’s wearing a white t-shirt stretched over his belly with food stains on it. It’s like he tried to dress up the look by putting on a blue-and-white checked shirt over it that he’s left unbuttoned, but the shirt is wrinkled and has a rip at the shoulder. He’s wearing khaki pants that are a size too small, but you can tell he’s not bothered to buy anything different because he doesn’t care how he looks.
Fine capillaries spread out over his reddened nose. The smell of beer on him is strong even though I’m still on the steps and he’s inside. It confirms his drinking problem.
This is not the man who betrayed me with Michelle. I can’t even see any of the man who used to be in peak physical shape while he was in the military and then working at Jameson Group.
“Jesus,” I mutter as my gaze comes back up to him. “You look fucking terrible.”
I didn’t mean for that to be my first words to the asshole, but they just sort of popped out. I can tell they don’t sit well with him because as he starts to shut the door in my face even as he says, “Asshole.”
My hand shoots out. I push the door so hard he loses his grip on it, and it crashes inward. With two steps, I’m in the trailer.
Jayce’s eyes now widen with fear. He may have changed, but I haven’t. I still tower over him by a good four inches, and I’ve taken excellent care of my body. I’m probably in better shape now than I was in my twenties when I first kicked his ass and we were more evenly matched.
“You need to get the fuck out—”
His words cut off as my hand slams into his throat and my fingers grip hard. I push him back across his dingy living room, turning him slightly so he doesn’t run into his nasty-looking couch covered in patches of duct tape to hide the rips, and slam him into the far wall. He doesn’t even bother to bring his hands up to defend himself or remove my hand, but then again, I’m not gripping him hard enough to cut off his air supply.
Just hard enough that he gets my message. “Where’s the money Trista brought you?”
Again, not sure if he’s stupid or what, but Jayce smirks at me and says, “It’s gone. Spent it all.”
This does not satisfy me so I tighten my grip, pull him away from the wall, and then slam him viciously back into it. His head hits the paneled wall, the smirk disappearing.
“Where’s the money?” I calmly ask again. “And you know better than most what I’m capable of, so think carefully before you give me that bullshit.”
“Why?” he asks with a sneer. “You going to take it back? Renege on the favor you owed me?”
I respond by landing two swift upper-cut punches to his stomach, just below his breastbone. I was aiming for three but he was doubling over, gasping and dry heaving by the second punch. I haul him straight again by my hold on his throat and pin him to the wall. His face is tinged green, and I’m not surprised. Punching someone there with enough force can cause vomiting.
Jayce’s eyes cut sharply left, and he gives a slight tilt of his head toward the hallway.