Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
“Let’s hope your friends are more cooperative when yours is the next dead body we have to investigate,” Scott says sarcastically.
“Is that a threat? Did you just threaten me?”
“No, Ms. Martinez. It’s a warning to you and all the other women here that hanging out with the Reckless Souls MC is a bad idea.”
“How about you try to solve the dead bodies you already have and don’t worry about the next one? The news says there are plenty of unsolved deaths in town, and you’re here worrying about someone you don’t even know is dead. Maybe they’ll want to hear about how you care more about an allegedly missing used car salesman who beats women than actual missing women.”
Both detectives’ eyes flare with fury, and I smile, waving as they storm out of For Goodness Cakes.
Those assholes aren’t getting shit out of me.
Chapter Ten
Joaquin
“Damn, this place is deep in the cut,” Lucky says. We’ve come to a stop outside another warehouse owned by the Kings. “This place is definitely not meant to be found.”
Lucky has a point. A warehouse set from the main road isn’t meant to operate during normal business hours. “Has to be another stash house,” I say.
Coop nods his agreement. “Most likely. It’s not like the Kings need a lot of warehouse space for legit businesses.” He shakes his head and rakes a hand through his hair, blowing out an exhausted breath. “Let’s get inside while it’s still light enough to see what’s in there.”
The sun is about to set, giving us perfect cover, but if the warehouse isn’t on the grid, then we’ll be blind in there.
It’s a typical warehouse, and when we get inside, it’s just what I expect. Tall ceilings, fluorescent lighting, and shelves stacked to the ceiling, the place looks like an abandoned Costco.
“What do you think they have in here?” I ask, scanning tall shelves stacked high with boxes, bags, chests, crates, and any other container that can hold something.
Coop flashes a shit-eating grin. “There’s just one way to find out, brother.” I watch him closely as he steps further inside the building. I scan for anyone who doesn’t belong as Coop steps closer to one of the shelves. He pulls out a six-inch blade and stabs it into one of the boxes with the wide-eyed giddiness of a kid on Christmas morning.
“Coke,” he says, watching a stream of white powder spilling out of the box.
Drugs. I shrug. “At least they’re keeping them stored where they’ll stay in good condition,” I say and move toward another shelf. Instead of Coop’s theatrics, I unzip a large red suitcase and find bags and bags of pills. “Fucking fentanyl,” I say. “Not getting near that shit.”
“We found more coke and what looks like meth,” Lucky says. “Fucking idiots.”
Coops nods. “Yeah, they are. You guys check over there, and I’ll get Ace on the phone.”
Lucky and I go through a few more shelves, and I laugh. “These motherfuckers are straight up crazy, but they have their drugs organized by shelves, only in a bunch of janky-ass bags. What the fuck?”
Lucky laughs. “Crackhead rationale?”
“Maybe, but it’s a safe bet they stole these drugs from the port. Looks like a whole container load.”
“Why wouldn’t they keep one of their guys here to protect it? Don’t you think it seems weird?” Lucky asks.
“Yeah, it does. But I have no idea what those guys think.”
“Hey, guys,” Coop yells across the room, his voice echoing off the walls. “We got some guys coming to transport this shit, so let’s get these bags and shit over to the door.”
It takes us nearly an hour to move the bags over to the exit and another thirty minutes to load them into the trucks with the help of a few prospects.
“Are we just leaving the place like this?” I ask.
Coop grins. “Ace said to torch the bitch when we’re done. We’re done, so go do your thing.”
He tosses a Zippo in my direction, and I catch it before it hits the cement floor. “I’ll be out here unless you need some help.”
“Nope. I got it,” I assure him. It takes fifteen minutes to walk the inside perimeter of the place and douse it with enough accelerants to make sure the structure is uninhabitable come sunrise.
“Feel better, pyro?” Coop says when I run outside.
“Fuck you,” I tell him and jump on my bike. We don’t even need to wait. By the time we make it back to the road, flames lick the outside of the building, and thick black smoke wafts up in the air.
About a mile down the road, a loud explosion rocks the building, and I smile, sure that this little bit of fuckery will bring Nogales from whatever hole he’s hiding in.
Our team drives the box truck to a very undisclosed location we own in the high desert while we ride back to the clubhouse.