Total pages in book: 146
Estimated words: 143842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 143842 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 719(@200wpm)___ 575(@250wpm)___ 479(@300wpm)
Rather than having incited discord and fear.
Disgust prickled the fine hairs at the base of Cody’s neck, and he ground his teeth as he drove the hammer harder against the nail, fitting the railing to the support pole as he struggled to rein in the shame and dread that gathered like devastation in his being.
Cody turned, hating the face that grinned back, this guy’s persona so fucking fake Cody couldn’t stand looking at him, kind of the way he was starting to hate looking at himself in the mirror.
Brent passed him the envelope that contained a fat wad of cash for the last five jobs he’d done, including the one yesterday. Five more men Cody had terrorized.
It was the last ten thousand Cody needed.
The promise he’d made his father bashed against the reproach, and Cody reached out and took the blood-tainted money. There was no fucking way on earth he could bring himself to say thank you.
Brent just kept looking at him with that smug look on his face, and Cody itched, feet shifting in discomfort. He gestured to the fence, voice rough, “I’d better get back to it.”
“Think that’s going to have to wait, I have something more important for you to handle.”
Cody gave a harsh shake of his head. “I finished what we agreed on. Job is done.”
“Well, see, the thing is, Cody, I’m going to have to ask you for one more favor. I have someone who’s become a problem, and I need you to take care of that problem.”
Foreboding rolled through Cody’s being, and his flesh slicked with sweat. “I’m going to have to pass.”
“Nah,” Brent said, still grinning. “You’re going to have to see it through. Instructions are in your truck.” Brent clapped him on the shoulder like they were old pals, sending him a wink before he strolled off with his hands stuffed in his pockets.
Cody sat in the driver’s seat of his truck.
Terror rolled down his spine as he stared at the two items that had been in the manila envelope.
The first was a picture of a guy he’d shaken down about a month before. One he’d beaten for owing a hundred grand.
The other item was a gun.
It didn’t take all that much to discern the guy hadn’t paid up.
Cody trembled like a fucking earthquake, a ball of razors rolling his throat as he tried to swallow, as he tried to breathe, as he tried to process the disaster that he’d gotten himself into.
He’d promised he’d help his mother, no matter the cost, and Cody was realizing just how steep that cost might be.
Because the decision he made was likely going to land him in a shallow grave. But there was no fucking chance he’d stoop to this level, so he sucked all the fear stampeding through his insides down, and he shoved the contents of the manila envelope back inside, and his gaze rose through the windshield toward the enormous cabin in the distance.
Sickness lined his guts, that terror clamoring, his end in sight. He could almost feel his time running out, the hands on the clock of his life coming to a mangled standstill.
But his fear wouldn’t stop him. He’d accepted it. What this was coming to.
So, he strode up the long walkway made of decorative rock and around the side of the massive house to the separate entrance to Douglas Wagner’s office that was attached at the far side.
His hand was a dead weight as he lifted it to rap at the door.
He’d barely talked to the man, Brent being his point of contact, and confusion littered the guy’s expression when he opened the door to find a frazzled Cody standing there. “Can I help you?”
Sweat poured down Cody’s back. “I need to speak with you, sir.”
Douglas Wagner’s frown deepened. “Of course. Come in and have a seat.”
Except Cody couldn’t sit as he confessed what he’d been involved in. As he told the man about the betting ring that Brent was heading. The shakedowns. What Brent was now asking him to do.
Cody set the evidence on Douglas Wagner’s desk.
The man had gone pale, blanching in disbelief. Weak, he sank down onto his brown leather office chair, the picture in his hands, his voice ragged as he peered up at Cody. “And this was Brent who got you involved? Brent who runs my goddamn ranch?”
Regret carved into Cody’s words. “Yes, sir.”
Mr. Wagner nodded through dismayed acceptance. “I see.”
Then it was anger that surfaced, as if he’d had to work up to what this really meant. Standing, he scuffed a hand over his face before he was glaring at Cody. “I’m going to deal with this through a friend of mine at the Feds, but I need it quiet. I can’t have this scandal marring the reputation of the ranch. As for you…”