Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136791 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Cartel leader killed by DEA agent; missing wife rescued.
"He's married?" I whisper, a wave of nausea climbing up my throat. My legs tremble, threatening to buckle beneath me. I grasp onto the edge of a desk to keep myself upright.
"Keep reading," Mariah says.
I'm not sure I want to, but I can't stop myself.
Elijah Noel, wanted by United States and Mexican authorities in connection to a string of murders, was shot and killed by Special Agent Tristan Riley of the DEA during an attempt to rescue his wife, former prima ballerina Lillian Riley, née Maddox. Authorities are advising that Noel, a known associate of cartel kingpin Pedro Francisco, kidnapped Mrs. Riley earlier this week with the assistance of Remi Pledger, a former DEA agent now wanted in connection with the crime.
Finn Bethel, Commander of the ATF's Gang Unit in Los Angeles, stated that, with the assistance of Special Agent Roman Gregory of the ATF and Special Agent Michael Kincaid of the DEA, Agent Riley was able to uncover his wife's location and swiftly made entry to rescue her. During their attempt, Elijah Noel attempted to shoot the DEA agent and was subsequently killed in a struggle for the weapon. Remi Pledger's whereabouts are currently unknown.
"Cade really is a cop," I mutter. I ignore the overwhelming sense of relief invading each cell of my body at the confirmation that he's not married—and the pinpricks of pain stabbing at my heart over the fact that he's not here because of me. It hurts to know he's only here because of his job, not because he missed me or thought about me or wanted to see me.
"Yeah," Mariah says with a snort. "I hear he's a real badass too. He's been taking down gangs in Seattle for…."
"For how long?" I ask when she bites her lip and averts her gaze.
"Seven years," she whispers.
Seven years.
I sink down onto one of the desks, unable to hold myself up any longer. Cade has spent the last seven years of his life keeping other people safe from the people who ruined our lives.
Is he still hurting, too? Is that why he does it?
The possibility that he's spent seven years punishing himself for what happened cracks my heart wide open. Despite everything, I never wanted that for him. I never blamed him for what happened. I never wanted him to blame himself either.
"He's been trying to redeem himself ever since he left," Mariah whispers to me, echoing my thoughts.
"Don't."
"January–"
"Please, don't," I plead, fighting not to cry. I blink my eyes rapidly and take a deep breath, pulling myself together. It's been a long time since I let myself cry. I'm not going to do it in the middle of my classroom. "I can't do this right now. Not here. Not today. Okay?"
"Okay," she agrees, sympathy in her voice. She takes her phone from my hands and then pulls me to my feet. "Come on, we're going to get something to eat, and then we're going to drink until you forget all about him again."
I follow her willingly, desperate to forget…though if I'm honest, I've never been able to do that.
Chapter Three
Cade
Isit on my new Ducati outside Kaleo's clubhouse, waiting for the bastard to get tired of me scaring off his people and bring his ass out to talk to me. It won't be much longer. Not with his latest recruit hauling balls down the block as fast as his legs can carry him.
Turns out that flashing a badge here works just as well as it does in Seattle. It doesn't hurt that my goddamn name is all over the news right now. Probably also doesn't hurt that I've been in every shithole in this city in the last forty-eight hours, making my presence known.
I've been taking down gangs and cartels in Seattle for so long that the entire West Coast knows who I am. I've got more goddamn enemies than the cartels. And more sources than a journalist. The major players here don't want to become my next target, and they know it.
Lucky for them, Curtis Kaleo has already secured that privilege. If he isn't willing to back off and leave January alone, shit is going to get real uncomfortable for him, real quick. He may think he's untouchable, but I have precisely zero fucks left to give. He used up his one free pass a long time ago. I'm not inclined to give him another one now. He should have kept his ass away from my girl.
Like most of the neighborhood, the clubhouse is a shithole. He's worth a good two mill, but he still operates out of the same rundown former gas station he did when we were growing up. The lot is overgrown, and the pump spaces are full of trash and tumbleweeds. An old Camaro on stilts sits off to the side, with a line of bikes beside it. Most are old and busted.