Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63055 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 315(@200wpm)___ 252(@250wpm)___ 210(@300wpm)
Panic surges through my veins, my vision going spotty. “Wait! Wait!” I fight the men at my sides. “I have his papers. From his office. Boxes that are in storage.” The sack is whipped off, and I suck in air like I’d been strangled. “Just tell me what you’re looking for. I’ll find it.”
He gives me a soft smile as if I’ve performed as he hoped I would. “There are six gold bars the size of your iPhone and a little oil painting of birds. It’s a rare piece done by Camille Pissarro early in his career. It’s all worth more than your life, but if you can’t find it, I’ll be happy to see what I can get for you on the black market. I know a fewer buyers who would love a pretty toy like you.”
Gold bars? A painting? Like a treasure hunt? My mind spins and pings like a pin ball bouncing back and forth, up and down. Finally, it hits and sinks in at I know a few buyers who would love a pretty toy like you.
“It’s just your luck I have to go out of the country on unexpected business. You have a few months before I’m back in the states. More than enough time, no? And while I’m gone, Tom and Vinny here will stay back and keep an eye on you. I wouldn’t want you to think of running off or contacting any agents of the law before we can reunite.”
Without another word, I’m shoved out of the SUV and land on hands and knees, the asphalt ripping open skin. I barely feel it. I’m numb. Shaking.
“And bella mia,” he calls out the open door. “I almost forgot. My condolences on your father’s untimely death.”
Chapter 3
Bo
I’m the only one in the shop Saturday morning because Uncle Greg decided he’s taking weekends off now, and Winslow is still sleeping off last night.
I’m guessing he sold the stolen Porsche because he was waving cash around yesterday, making a big deal out of buying the weekly groceries for our mom and asking what bills she needed paying off. I heard him making plans with his friend, Ben, to hit the Phoenix nightclubs last night, and he stumbled in at dawn this morning reeking of alcohol.
Cole’s not in yet, I’m guessing he’s jerking off while looking in his next door neighbor’s window to keep himself from busting down her door.
Fates know, I’m feeling the full moon.
I couldn’t sleep at all last night, and my balls were blue over another certain human.
Wilde and Austin lounge against a Buick all sweaty from their morning run. They’re the more motivated of the mini-pack I call friends—the alpha-holes. They get up and run every morning because Coach drilled the habit into us as underclassmen when we needed to keep our raging hormones from erupting into inappropriate aggression—sexual or otherwise. It works. I would totally do it, but I don’t have time with my duties at the shop.
As if conjured by the moon herself, a tow truck pulls up with a smashed up Mercedes behind it. And guess who’s sitting in the passenger side of the truck?
Uh huh.
Miss no-name human female who has me fucking my hand all night while I curse her gorgeous face.
“Get lost, you guys,” I growl at my friends, which of course, only makes them crank their necks to see what I’m seeing.
“Is she the Cave Hills car thief?” Wilde asks.
Stupid me, I made the mistake of mentioning her as HILF—human I’d like to fuck—when Cole was grousing about his human neighbor.
“I said, get lost.”
Those sexy long legs emerge from the passenger side door.
“Now, or I’ll fucking kill you both.”
Austin chuckles. He’s the most good-natured of all of us. There’s a reason, he’s class president and a first-class player. “Find out if she has any friends—leaving!” he laughs when I growl, and the two of them pick up their water bottles and take off.
I pick up a clean rag and stride over, wiping my hands.
“Where do you want it?” the tow truck guy calls out. I know her game. She’s bringing in the totalled Mercedes to use for the salvage title. Then she steals a matching car, Winslow swaps a few identifying parts, and voila—she has a clean title to sell the jacked car.
I cock my head and catch the eyes of Legs. “We don’t.”
Her steps falter, the swing of her hips hitches. “Winslow already knows about this.” She waves in my direction. “Is he here?”
I saunter closer. “Nope.”
I see her gaze skitter over my shoulders and across my chest before snapping back to my face. “Well, he’s going to be working on it. So where would he want it?”
I fold my arms across my chest, ignoring the tow truck driver’s impatient throat clearing. I give her a solid stare-down, pulling the alpha-wolf method of waiting until she blinks away before I jerk my thumb. “Around back.”