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)
Shit. I guess that makes two of us.
"Kincaid," he says, grinning when he steps up beside my bike. Despite the fake smile plastered across his face, the angry glint in his blue eyes makes it clear he's not happy to see me. He crosses his arms, leaning up against my bike. "I thought they were joking when they said you were back in town, but here you are."
"Here I am," I agree.
"Any particular reason you're parked outside my operation, flashing that shiny badge around?" he asks when I don't immediately tell him why I'm here. He's so easy to antagonize it's almost pathetic.
"Got bored beating on little boys sent by men who don't know the definition of the word," I say with a shrug.
His fake smile slips, giving him away.
Yeah, motherfucker, I know what you've been up to lately.
"Seems to me that one of us isn't upholding his end of our bargain," I growl, done playing games with him, "and it isn't me. So, you wanna tell me why the fuck you're sending your crew into my territory to harass my girl?"
"It's not yours, Kincaid. Neither is she. Not anymore. The block is hers," he reminds me. "And she's standing between me and what I want."
"And what is it you want?"
"The park. It's prime real estate these days, and I've decided to claim it."
Of course that’s what he’s after. The fucking school. Kaleo calls his crew an MC, but he operates the same fucking way a street gang does, sinking his claws into kids while they’re still kids. Half of his prospects don’t even ride. He lures them in, promising they’ll earn their bikes, and turns them into dealers or his own little human shields instead.
They go to juvie for the same shit he'd get prison time for doing, and then he moves on to the next. He's been doing the same goddamn thing for years.
Of course he wants the park so he can keep doing it.
Too bad for him because it's not his for the taking.
"I know you're not very bright, so I'm going to speak little words real slow for you just this once, Kaleo," I tell him. "January is mine. Grecian Manor is mine. The park is mine. Step to her again and I will burn your shit to the fucking ground."
"You've changed," he says after a minute, his curious gaze roving all over my face.
"And you're still the same sorry piece of shit you've always been."
"Maybe." He shrugs. "But I know all your dirty secrets, Kincaid. Think they'll let you keep that shiny little badge when they know what I do?"
"I know all yours, too," I remind him, counting to five real slow in my head to keep myself from wrapping my fist around his throat to choke the life out of him. That he thinks I'm afraid of him is laughable, but the fact that he's still trying to manipulate me into doing what he wants pisses me off.
"Yeah, about that," he says, his eyes lighting up like the Vegas strip after sunset. "Did you know there's a statute of limitations on some crimes? Like mine, for instance. I can't be prosecuted for what I did back then, but as it turns out, there is no such rule when it comes to murder, Kincaid." He grins, showing me those pearly whites of his, and then he taps a hand on the roof of my rental. "Tell January she's welcome to stay on my block, but that it is my block now. If she continues to fight me, she'll learn the hard way."
New plan. I'm going to burn his shit to the ground while he watches…and then I'm going to kill him.
Just as soon as I convince January to go somewhere else for a little while.
"Fuck," I mumble, staring at the heavy wooden door like it might bite me. I'm so goddamn nervous I'm jittery. I have no idea what I'm going to say to her or if she'll even talk to me. And the last time I stepped inside this house, my entire world imploded. Those memories threaten to invade, pushing at the walls I've put up to keep them at bay. Before I lose the nerve altogether, I reach out and knock twice.
A shuffling sound comes from inside, followed by a soft curse.
A second later, the door flies open.
"Um…" I blink at the woman standing on the other side with a wineglass in her hand, gaping at me. She's short and curvy, with rich sepia skin, dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, and glassy brown eyes behind a pair of fashionable glasses. Whoever she is, she damn sure isn't January. She's familiar, though.
"Michael Kincaid," she says, snapping her mouth closed. She stands up straight, glaring at me.
"Mariah?" I ask, blinking at her. "Mariah Dupree?"