Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
“I’m a dangerous man.”
The chief snorts, clearly unamused, before he paces then hisses, “You’re a goddamn smartass with an attitude problem.”
He’s pissed. I don’t blame him. “I need you to understand.”
Frustrated, at his wit’s end, he pauses his pacing and turns to glare at me. “What? Understand what?”
“That I…” I raise my right hand, the detective’s pistol resting lightly in my palm, handcuff dangling from my wrist. “…am a dangerous man.”
His face turns white as a sheet, and he opens his mouth to speak, to shout, who knows, but I shush him. Slowly raising my empty left hand, I hold the pistol out in the other and place it in the center of the table, sitting back, before explaining to the older man, “You think you got me locked down. I need you to understand that you can’t cage an animal like me. There’s always a way out, and it might take time, but if it’s there, I’ll find it. You need to know I’m here because I’m letting you keep me here, but I can walk out at any time.” I jerk my chin toward the gun on the table. “Eight caps in that baby, and only five of you here at present.” My eyes hood in boredom. “You think I’m playing? I want something from you, and you best believe you’ll be getting something in return. After all of this is over, you’ll see it was you who got the higher end of the bargain.”
The chief doesn’t give himself away. He remains solemn, reaching out slowly, taking the detective’s gun from the table before moving to sit across from me. “What do you want, son?”
Son.
Get a load of this bitch. Nothing makes my blood boil faster than that term.
Standing so fast that the dinky chair flies back, I bring my arm up then slam it down, beating my fist on the goddamn offensive table so hard the boom echoes throughout the little room, and roar, “I want my fucking life back.”
My chest heaves with unsteady breaths. This has to work. I need to make this work. I don’t have a plan B. Both of my hands rest on the table, and my shoulders slump as I dip my head and mutter, “I want my life back.”
The door bursts open and three men storm in. I’m ready for them. My posture defensive, I will break these motherfuckers if they come at me. The detective looks ready to take me down again, the sergeant looking to the chief, but it’s Quaid who notices the cuff hanging from my wrist right away. The chief waves the men off before turning to Casper and saying, “Officer Quaid, it seems we require your assistance.”
Before the detective leaves, the chief hands him his gun and utters quietly, “You best be keeping an eye on your things when Mr. Falco is around. The boy’s got sticky fingers.”
The detective’s pale and stunned face has the door closed on it, and I laugh on the inside.
Quaid sits next to me, leans forward and asks, “You good?”
The chief takes a seat, and I respond loud enough for him to hear me, “Yeah. I’m thinking the chief and I are on the same page now.”
The old man looks tired. “Not quite, but I’m definitely intrigued.” He runs a hand down his face. “Okay, you want your life back. What are you going to give me?”
I take the piece of paper out of my pocket and hand it to him. He opens it and reads silently as I tell him, “These men on a silver platter.”
He glances at the list and frowns. “How? I know these men.” His cautious eyes meet mine. “They’re untouchable.”
“With what I know”—I slouch back in my chair, crossing my arms over my chest, and I grin savagely at the boss man—“we can make even gods bleed.”
It’s still dark. The cold has me grinding my molars together, my jaw locking tight, to stop my teeth from chattering. I don’t know how long has passed since Julius rolled over, taking the warmth of the covers with him.
The cuffs hold me securely against the headboard, and I can’t turn over or wriggle closer to the comfort of the quilt. Julius ordered me to sleep, but my defiant eyes only close for fleeting moments before I’m rudely awoken by the hurt.
The hurt… oh, Jesus.
Goddamn it, I hurt.
I don’t know how much longer I can keep quiet, but every time I move to open my mouth, fear grips me, and I am once again immobilized.
My arms have been numb for hours, I’m sure, and every now and again, sparks ignite in the tips of my fingers like electric currents of pure agony. My hands are so cold they burn, and I have to bite my tongue to stop myself from crying out in pain as the pins and needles poke and prod at me from the inside out.