Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 49989 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 250(@200wpm)___ 200(@250wpm)___ 167(@300wpm)
One of the older foster girls she knew had told her to do this. When she felt like she was on the verge of a panic attack, to take control. No one could take away her ability to breathe, to bring herself back from the brink.
All the power had always been taken away from her.
There was nowhere for her to turn. No one she could trust.
Life was way too scary, and some days, like today, she wondered what the point was.
There were no real cops. No good guys. She had to get out of the city, to move on with her life somehow.
“Priest,” he said.
“Huh?”
“That’s my name. It’s Priest.” He held out his hand. “And I could use your help.”
“I … I’m no one,” she said.
“No, you’re not. These men, or whoever their boss is, want you, and if you slip through their fingers, it’s going to end up worse for you. You’re someone, Cleo Bennet.”
She shook her head, denying it.
“I can protect you.”
“You were going to kill me.”
“Was I?” he asked. “Because like you said back in the car, if I was going to kill you, I’d have done it already.”
That was true.
“I … what will I have to do?” she asked.
“Help me bring down the men who want you dead. My boss wants them all taken out. You’ll be working for me. You’ll stay with me, and I’ll take care of those cops that put your life in danger.”
Cleo had no other choice. There was no option for her.
She couldn’t go back to the hotel, not now, not with knowing what was going on there. Nibbling on her lip, she glanced around at her apartment. She’d been taking care of herself, legally, for six whole years, and she still didn’t feel like she had her life in any kind of order. None of her dreams or wishes had come true. Far from it.
There was no backing out now.
Priest snatched her backpack and tossed it in the corner. For her, it symbolized letting go of everything she’d ever known.
She reached out for Priest’s outstretched hand. He was now her only lifeline.
“Now wait for me in the hallway.”
Chapter Three
Marcus Olivieri was one of Gustavo Bianchi’s top soldiers.
Now he was dead.
Before Priest killed the guy in Cleo’s apartment, he made sure to get some dirt. Bianchi had cops on his payroll, a lot of them, which would not go over well with Boss. Killer of Kings had people working for them in every sector of society, including the police force. He had to let his boss know without revealing his fuckup.
His hope was to handle things himself on the downlow without needing to involve anyone else. They wanted Cleo, so he could use her to his advantage. She’d make perfect bait.
What he needed most was time to think.
Cleo was in the passenger seat with a blindfold over her eyes. As he pulled into his driveway, his cell went off again. He couldn’t avoid Boss forever. It would only make him more suspicious.
“Yeah.”
He stepped out of the car, pacing back and forth outside.
“Where are you now?”
“Home. Why?”
“Good,” Boss said. “Check your encrypted email.”
That was it. He hung up without another word. That fucker was always eccentric, but Priest had been sure he was calling to question him. Boss always seemed to know everything, even his darkest secrets. Just because Boss didn’t mention the assignment or the girl, didn’t mean he was off the hook. Priest had to be careful, no more mistakes.
He rounded to the passenger side and helped Cleo out, leaving the blindfold in place.
“Where are we?” she asked.
“You talk too much.” He led her inside, punching his security information into the panel before closing the door behind them. It was good to be home, but not so great with this girl in tow.
Priest had to keep reminding himself she wasn’t part of the contract. She was innocent, in the wrong place at the wrong time. It was still hard to have pity for her when his life was in upheaval thanks to her.
He reached into one of the kitchen drawers and grabbed a couple of long zip ties from the bag. He pressed her down into a chair and secured her hands behind her against the wooden slats.
“Don’t move. Keep your mouth shut.”
“But—”
She didn’t finish her sentence. Good choice.
Priest went upstairs and turned on the shower before putting a call into Maurice, one of their in-house tech wizards. The steam from the warm water began to fill the bathroom, clouding the mirror above the vanity.
“Long time no hear,” Maurice said.
“I just need a quick workup on a girl. Cleo Bennet. Twenty-four.”
“And by quick, you mean?”
“Within the hour. Less would be better.”
“Of course. I should be used to Killer of Kings’ impossible expectations by now.” Maurice sighed on the other end. “I’ll be in touch.”