Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89815 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
“What is it?” Day asked, rubbing the back of his neck while simultaneously checking the side mirror. “Something in the road?”
“Yeah. Back up, God,” Syn told him.
God put the gear shift in reverse and eased off the break. As he did, he kept his eyes on the spot Syn was watching. There were wide twelve-foot privacy bushes lining the two-lane road, and behind them sitting on the ground with his knees pulled up to his chest... was Marcus Stewart.
Syn flung the back door open and ordered, “Get in.”
Marcus glanced up, his eyes glazed over and red-rimmed. He wasn’t wearing a hat or coat in the freezing weather, and from where they were God could see all the dried blood on his clothes. Terrified eyes went to him and Marcus began to shake even harder.
“Now,” Syn fired in a deep voice that had Marcus flinching, then leaping to hurry into the truck.
Once Marcus was inside Syn pulled his Sig Saur handgun and aimed it at him. “Are you armed?”
“Do I fucking look armed, Sydney?” Marcus fired back through chattering teeth, raising his hands and grasping his thin T-shirt and sweats.
“What the hell are you doing out here?” God asked angrily as Syn began to lower his weapon. All of them were still pissed that the Stewart brothers kept miraculously slipping through their fingers and they couldn’t figure out why.
Marcus turned a watery gaze towards him, and it was the first time God had seen an ounce of humility in the notorious dealer. “I was waiting on you.”
God frowned. “Me? Why?”
Marcus’s deep brown eyes looked haunted. “Because the Devil said only God could save me.”
Day walked around the interrogation table while Detective Ronowski sat waiting across from Marcus Stewart. Ro had removed his jacket and pushed his sleeves up as if they were gonna get comfortable. It was all psychological tactics he used. Day also had a masters in psychology and had received specialty training on suspect interrogation when he was in the academy. But Ronowski did all of their examinations because well, he was just that damn good. It wasn’t often Ro didn’t get the confession or information they wanted.
Marcus fidgeted with his cuticles. They hadn’t bothered handcuffing him because he was there of his own free will. Matter of fact, Day felt that if they tried to throw Marcus back out onto the streets, he’d cling to them like a baby koala did its momma.
Something had the Stewart brothers scared as hell, and all of them were desperate to find out why. So far all Marcus had done since he’d been there was scarf down a chicken biscuit and four cups of black coffee. Now he was staring at his shaky hands as if he was waiting for them to start talking.
“I don’t have all day. If you have nothing to tell me then you might as well leave and stop wasting my time,” Ronowski said casually. He uncrossed his boot from over his knee and closed the file as if the meeting was over.
“No! Wait!” Marcus hollered. “I know who shot up my house.”
“I don’t give a fuck who shot up your house! File a vandalism complaint!” Ro stood, his bright, baby-blue eyes flashing with rage. He leaned over Marcus, pressing his fists into the table, making the veins in his forearms bulge. “I wanna know who was driving the car and who pulled the trigger that killed eighteen-year-old Evan Martin and wounded four others on Lakewood Avenue.”
Marcus dropped his head, his entire face scrunched into a tight frown. He sounded devastated when he spoke as if he knew his world was crashing down around him. “I only know what I heard, all right... I wasn’t actually there. But, but everyone knows who it was. I can give you that... and... someone else. Someone real big.”
Day’s heart started to pound. He could almost feel God’s eyes watching them with the rest of their team and their captain, through the one-way mirror.
“But... but I need y’all word that y’all gonna protect me if I cut a deal. If the police say they gonna do it then they have to, right?” Marcus glanced up at Day, panting a little as if he’d been running, which was interesting because he was sitting. He wasn’t just frightened, he was traumatized. “I don’t give a fuck about the Warlords, 14th Street, Big Mike’s crew, none of them. I just want protection from the devils in black.”
Day came around the table until he was facing Marcus directly. “What devils in black?”
“The ones that shot up my house. The ones that tracked me and Jason at our safe house in fucking Grove Park. A place where no one, and I mean no one, knew about. The ones that forced their way into the house and killed my boy Josh and shot my brother with a suppressed Desert Eagle like it was nothing.”