Total pages in book: 59
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 286(@200wpm)___ 229(@250wpm)___ 191(@300wpm)
“You’d think that you would know better than to steal from me,” he said.
“You’re a moron if you think I was the one who stole it,” I said. “I mean, you don’t have any eyes on that dock? What kind of crack operation is this that someone else can swoop in and steal your supply without you seeing it go down?”
I didn’t even have time to stiffen for it.
His arm whipped back then forward so fast that I couldn’t react before his backhand cracked across my cheek, the sound ricocheting in the empty space as pain shot across my face, making me see stars as my eyes watered automatically.
I blinked furiously, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of thinking I was crying.
“Oh, yes. Big, strong man. Smacking a woman. You’re so scary.”
“You stupid bitch—“ he started, leaning toward me.
I had a mental image of spitting in his face. It wasn’t fear of repercussions that stopped me, but my own disgust that anyone would do something like that.
Instead, though, I shot upward off my chair just enough to make impact with the bottom of his chin, hearing a little crack as his teeth knocked together hard.
Hands grabbed me, forcing me back down onto the chair, fingers digging in painfully as the leader cupped his jaw and let off a string of words that had a few of his men moving away.
Likely going to get the restraints I’d been anticipating.
It was right when they were out of my sight, and the leader started toward me again, his hand fisted hard, that I heard it. That we all heard it.
Pop pop pop.
Gunshots.
But a lot of them.
Way more than back at Junior’s place.
This was so rapid that it had to be some sort of machine gun.
The men around me seemed to all move at once, reaching for their guns, but scurrying away.
Away from me.
Everyone except the leader.
Who was reaching for his gun too. But looking right at me as he did it.
I was about to jump out of my chair, grab it, and swing it, when something happened that took my brain a full few seconds to register.
Red spurted out of the man’s arm, making the gun fall, and a roar escape him as his other hand rose to close over the hole now in his forearm.
Someone had shot him.
His men wouldn’t shoot him.
That could only mean…
Junior.
It had to mean Junior.
No one else would come for me.
“Shale, get down!” his voice called, familiar and so, so welcome.
I didn’t even think.
I dropped to the ground and scrambled away.
But not before grabbing the gun that was now splattered with blood.
As I scooted backward across the floor, I saw them.
Not just Junior.
But a man who looked just like him, albeit older.
His father.
Then Jackson. And the man who was his older lookalike as well.
They all flew into the building, hugging the walls, and moving forward in unison.
Bullets continued to ring out outside, and I could have sworn I heard men hollering in pain before they were quiet again.
“Okay. You’re okay,” Junior said, coming up to me, reaching down, and hauling me up with one arm. “Behind me. Grab my shirt. Like when we went to your apartment,” he said, voice brooking no argument.
Not that I had one.
“You’re okay,” I said, hearing the hitch in my voice as I tried to look under Junior’s arm, and saw his father, uncle, and cousin disappear.
There were more pop pop pops.
Then the most eerie silence I’d ever heard in my life.
Broken only by the footsteps of Junior’s family walking back, guns still drawn.
Outside was quiet for once too.
In fact the only thing I heard was my own breathing, and the ragged breathing of the leader on the floor, clutching his hand.
Then, out of nowhere, clapping.
Slow, methodical clapping.
Like a villain in a movie.
“The fuck…” Junior started as I peeked out again and saw him.
Andrés “A” Alcazar.
Walking into the area like he owned the place, a smirk toying with his lips.
“Look who it is,” he said, addressing the man on the ground. “Shoulda been dead years ago,” he said, taking the chair I’d vacated, turning it, and sitting on it backward, arms folded over the backrest. Like he was having the most normal, casual conversation ever. “Know what they say, though,” A went on. “Fucking cockroaches never die. Do bleed, though,” he said, smirking at the man’s hand. “How you been, Jorge?” he asked.
“Fuck you,” Jorge spat out, gaze moving around the floor, likely looking for the gun that was in my hand.
“Lil’ mama over there got it,” A said, shocking me enough that I almost dropped the damn thing. “What you think? You wanna do the honors?” he asked, looking at me as I stepped more toward Junior’s side.
“Honors?” I asked, brows pinching.
“No,” Junior said at almost the same time.
“Fine by me,” A said, then in a move that was so casual, no one even flinched, he grabbed a gun, and fired into the man’s head, spraying blood and brain matter all over the place.