Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76172 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
“I can’t guarantee that he’s going to wake up.”
“Just fucking tell us what to do so we can find that out?” Cash snaps from the shooter’s bedside.
He looks seconds away from strangling the guy, and I don’t fucking blame him.
“He may fucking know where Devyn is,” I add.
It’s been fucking hours since the shooting, and we still don’t know where she is. Her phone was found under one of the picnic tables. None of the other shooters had phones on them. The only evidence we found was that fucking note about killing Cerberus.
Angel has been called, but he’s still adamant that Cortez is dead and it’s unlikely people are seeking vengeance for him.
Kincaid and some of the others are on their way, but the jet we took to get here had to go back to New Mexico to pick them up. Commercial flights would’ve taken even longer. They’re expected here within the hour, but there’s nothing we can fucking do if we don’t get more information. There were no cars in town unaccounted for, so that means they all came in one vehicle. It seems that’s the one the guy took who snatched Devyn up.
“I can’t,” the doctor repeats. “But if you just pull out that—”
Cash doesn’t waste a second pulling things off and out of the guy, unconcerned for the dribble of blood when he yanks out the IV tucked into the bend of his arm.
The second all leads and wires are pulled away, Cash smacks the man in the face.
“That’s not going to help,” the doctor mutters. “You have to wait until the medicine in his system dilutes enough that he can regain consciousness.”
The doctor leaves, his head shaking as if he’s torn between the oath he took as a physician and the pain he’s feeling because of the violation to his community.
I’m glad Cash isn’t as concerned with the oath he took to protect and serve because I’d be doing exactly what he’s doing if he tried to take the higher road.
We wait, the three of us taking turns pacing the end of the guy’s hospital bed. Minutes turn into hours, and the piece of shit doesn’t stir for over four hours, every second ticking by making my mind race with the things Devyn could be enduring.
I no longer feel like the hero many people claim Cerberus members are. I’m in that dark place where I’d destroy the entire world to make sure my girl is safe. I’d sacrifice myself, give up every memory I have of her just to ensure her safety.
I’m on the edge of no return when the guy grumbles, his face drawing up in pain.
Cash holds up his hand, blocking me when I go to grab the guy by the face.
“This is my fucking town,” he snaps. “My fucking rules.”
The fire in his eyes is the only thing keeping me from knocking his ass out. He wants to punish every single one of these guys for what they did, and I can easily tell he isn’t going to take the fully legal path to make that happen. Vigilante justice probably isn’t the way to go, and there will no doubt be repercussions for what we’ve done and will do in here today, but so be it. The jury of our peers were all just fired upon at an outdoor wedding. There’s a good chance they’ll be able to commiserate with us if it goes to trial.
Cash grabs the man by the chin, forcing him to look him in the eye.
“Where the fuck is she?”
The guy tries to jerk away, realizing quickly that he’s handcuffed to the bed.
He refuses to answer, cussing Cash in Spanish, but Cash argues back, the language not as smooth from his mouth when he replies.
The guy shakes his head again, but is unable to rip free from Cash’s hold.
“You’ll fucking tell me one way or the other.”
The guy’s eyes widen when I hold the scalpel over his chest, using my free hand to rip away the flimsy hospital gown. I’ve seen some crazy shit, been witness to some torture techniques I’d never confess to seeing, but I’ve never been the one on the distributing end of it.
I press the scalpel to the outer corner of his gunshot wound without hesitation, wondering just how much the medicine still in his veins will dull the pain. He doesn’t deserve an ounce of reprieve, but there’s nothing I can do about what he’s already been administered.
He screams with the first cut, fighting against Cash who presses a folded-up towel to his mouth to muffle the sound. His eyes are wide as if he can’t believe someone would hurt him this way while he’s in a hospital, a place meant for healing. The man shot and killed several people at a wedding, an occasion meant for celebration and love. The fucking audacity of this piece of shit makes me dig in harder.