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)
"Right," Ames says with a snort. How one dude can convey so much with so few words, I do not know, but he's a pro at it. It's impressive. Annoying as all hell, but impressive.
"Let me know when I can pick up my shit," I mutter and then hang up before he can say anything else.
I like Ames, but I'm not talking about January or how I feel or what I'm thinking or any of that. It's no one's business but my own. The less they know, the better off they are if Kaleo does manage to hang me out to dry.
Once I'm certain no one's lurking around my girl's place, I run over to Ma Lucia's to change my clothes. They smell like January and I don't want to lose that scent, but I don't want any other motherfucker smelling her all over me either. I might have to kill someone for that. The smell of her arousal is mine. Only mine.
I spend the next two hours stalking Kaleo's people. It's depressingly easy. He keeps his supply at the clubhouse. His people pick it up from there and then slip out the door, looking around like they expect the police to run up on them at any second.
If he were smarter, he'd send them somewhere else to pick up the goods and keep his hands clean. But he likes to be in control. No one has ever accused him of being the brightest crayon in the box, but he knows enough to dole out small amounts of crack and pot to his plugs.
When they get busted with it, he loses very little and then ropes someone else into playing the same game.
How the hell he's managed to avoid doing serious time, I don’t know. He gets off with a slap on his wrist every time he gets busted.
Then again, the cops around here have bigger fish to fry right now. Despite his opinion to the contrary, Kaleo is a little fish in a big pond. His territory has grown over the years, but it's still small fries compared to what other crews hold.
Sad fact is, sometimes it's easier to keep people like Kaleo in place and deal with the devil you know than to risk bringing him down and letting the devil you don't take over.
The first few who come and go are in their mid-twenties, wearing Grecian Guardian cuts. The fourth is maybe twenty. All old enough to know better, at least. But when a fucking teenager slips out of the clubhouse, his eyes wide and fearful as he hauls ass down the block, I’ve seen enough.
Before he gets far, I slip around the side of the warehouse across the street and cut across an alley to catch up to him.
"Shit!" the kid yelps when I materialize out of the shadows at the end of the block.
"Didn't your mama ever tell you to be home when the streetlights come on?" I ask him, planting myself in his path and crossing my arms. "It's almost one in the morning, and you're what? Fifteen? Sixteen?"
"I was studying late," he lies, crossing his arms over his chest like he's not afraid of me. His blue eyes tell a different story though. They're wide and panicky.
Bad news for him, but they're about to get a hell of a lot worse.
"Right. And I'm not a DEA agent," I mutter.
"Fuck," the kid whispers, his eyes getting even wider…just like I said. With red hair and freckles, he looks like fucking Raggedy Andy.
I pull my badge out and show it to him.
He rocks on his heels, peeking over my shoulder like he's thinking about making a run for it.
"You can try, but I'm a hell of a lot faster than I look. You won't make it ten feet before I tackle your ass," I warn him and then shrug. "Knock yourself out if you feel like it though. The fleeing charges will be a bitch, but do what you gotta do, kid."
His shoulders slump and he stops fidgeting.
"Good choice. What's your name?"
"Liam Bradley."
"Liam, you slinging for Kaleo?"
He avoids my gaze, which is answer enough.
"Empty your pockets."
"Fuck, man," he grumbles and then, wisely, does as I ask. He's got about two dozen Z-bars and as many Adderall pills in two baggies. He's also got about a quarter of pot.
"Kaleo hook you up with this shit?" I ask him.
He shrugs and clenches his jaw.
"I can cuff you now and take you in, or you can tell me what I want to know. Your choice." I pull out my phone and the handcuffs I had the foresight to bring with me and dangle them from my finger.
"He'll kill me if I talk," Liam whispers, licking his lips.
"Not if he doesn't know."
His eyes snap to mine.
I shrug a shoulder. "Tell me what I want to know, we'll work something out."