Total pages in book: 154
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 148220 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 741(@200wpm)___ 593(@250wpm)___ 494(@300wpm)
Into Handlebar’s hands. But she isn’t telling Creek that. The man’s not buying the accident claim for a second but he doesn’t press her, either.
So she’s looking out for Handlebar. My chest feels real tight as I gently squeeze her fingers. She gives me a little smile, then it falters when she goes on, “And Bravo. They executed him after Lissa was…” She trails off, her throat working. “After Tusk dragged Lissa into his stall and killed her. And she’s out there, too.”
“Lissa?” Creek prods gently.
“Yeah. She was…I think a dancer in Vegas? She never really said for certain. But she had a little girl who was being looked after by her parents. That’s how they made her do what they wanted. But she still tried to escape.” Tears slip from her eyes before she looks to me, hard and angry. “You would have called her bait pussy. But she was so good and sweet. And helped me so much.”
“And I’m so fucking sorry, angel.” I bring her trembling hand to my lips, press an apologetic kiss to her fingers. Sorry she was hurt so bad, sorry I was such a fucking asshole. “Creek will make sure she gets out of the ground and home to her family. Yeah?”
“Yeah,” he says softly.
She nods, still quietly crying, and I crack open her water bottle while Creek snags the box of tissues from the vanity.
To me, he says, “There was a fourth body in the barn. One of the rear stalls. Big guy. Bullet wound to the head.”
“That was Tusk,” my girl spits out. “A piece of shit murdering rapist asshole.”
Surprise arches Creek’s brows. “One of the fighters?”
“Yeah,” I tell him. “And most likely you’ll be getting a hit on that DNA. Either already in the system because he’s been in prison for rape or murder, or waiting to be matched to some serial killer shit. That fucker loved what he did in the Cage. Fucking loved it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind. Any idea how he met his demise?”
My girl shakes her head. “It was really dark in there. And it was so loud. Bullets going everywhere. He probably got confused and just…accidentally fell into the path of a ricochet.”
“‘Accidentally fell into the path of a ricochet,’” Creek echoes slowly as he writes that down, barely doing a better job than I am of not laughing. “Any idea who was pulling the trigger that started the ricochet?”
“No clue. It was so dark,” she says again. “I was locked up in my stall. The next thing I know, someone picked me up and carried me out of there, and I saw Tango and Hotel on the ground as we went out. But other than that…nothing. Because I swooned.”
“Swooned?”
“Fainted. But elegantly.”
“Seems like a reasonable reaction,” he says, lips quirking. “Maybe we’ll come back to that. What can you tell me about the other fighters?”
“Nothing.”
“Nothing?”
“Nothing.” She regards him steadily. “I’ll call it patient confidentiality.”
“You can’t claim that privilege if you aren’t a doctor.”
“Maybe not. But they were under my care. So if they want to come forward, fine. But I will not be responsible for doing more harm to them, if naming them puts a target on their backs. Or on their family’s backs. They’ve been through enough. And I’ve got enough guilt to deal with.” Beneath the table, she reaches for my hand again. “You want me for Papa. Ask me about him, instead.”
This fucking girl. I don’t know how I ever thought she was just saving her own skin. She doesn’t say it was me who killed Tusk, doesn’t say she saw Gunner and Zoomie coming into the barn and shooting the guards, and now she’s protecting the fighters. She doesn’t owe any of us a damn thing. Hell, she’s probably got reason to make some of us pay. Yet she’s not giving the feds any leverage over us.
Creek takes that explanation in stride. “All right. Give me Papa’s basics first. Do you have a description?”
She does, and there isn’t any more to it than what she already told me. A tanned, rich-looking asshole. Of course, the FBI will get her in front of a forensic artist and maybe have a portrait soon.
More interesting is what she says about his security. No names for the suits, but the general descriptions matching what Spiral reported from the Iron Blood’s compound. No surprise that it was Papa’s crew, but good to have confirmation. She describes sedans instead of SUVs, but likely they use different vehicles to escort Papa than they do when transporting crates of guns. And best of all is a state for those plates, too—Nevada.
Already narrowing him down. And this feels real fucking good again. Getting shit done.
Creek flips over a page in his notebook. “Tell me about your first meeting with Papa.”
She hesitates for a long time, biting her lip—her fingers squeezing mine. Finally she says softly, “I’d like to save that for a little later.”