Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“He pays better,” Slater said.
“And shows his people some fucking respect,” Julian added.
“I can’t believe this crap.” I spoke in a gruff voice, unable to hide my annoyance at the irony. “We’d actually be happy if Gambini were to find a way to steal us from that motherfucker—but since he can’t, he tried to take us out.”
“We don’t know that for sure,” Julian pointed out.
His comment was met by silence, and we stared at the woman on stage for a while. Her bottle-blonde hair looked far too light compared to Maggie’s glossy black hair. Everything about the stripper looked wrong. She looked fake. Maggie looked real. And she sure as fuck had felt real. My hands ached to touch her again.
But that wasn’t what she needed. Disgusted with myself, I glanced over toward the bar. My gaze was drawn to a short, thin figure. His back to me, he was talking to some old guy with gray hair. The man in question had bleached hair. Spiky bleached hair.
Sean Baxter.
Holy shit.
I cleared my throat. “One o’clock.”
“Shit…” Slater hissed through gritted teeth. “It’s him. I was sure he’d lay low for a while.”
Julian said nothing, staring at the back of his spiky head. I rose from my seat slowly. Anything too sudden could draw unwelcome attention to me. Baxter left the bar, walking down the hall, probably to take a piss. I rounded one side of the table, Julian and Slater on the other. I sidestepped a waitress and pushed my way through the crowd of sweat, horny customers, Slater following right behind me.
When we were ten feet behind the little prick, he glanced over his shoulder.
Fuck.
He took off, plowing down some poor waitress in the process. Her tray crashed to the ground and slowed him up for a second or two. I barreled after him, my hand on my gun.
I jumped over the broken glasses, Julian flanking me. Baxter lunged towards the back exit, his head bouncing off the hard door. He probably hoped his weight would be enough to open it. What a moron.
The door opened a crack and the guard outside glanced in. “Unfinished business,” I grunted as I grabbed Baxter by the collar.
It felt good to manhandle him out into the night air. The guard pointedly stepped inside, leaving the three of us alone in the alley with Baxter.
Blood pounded in my temples at the sight of the scrawny man in front of me, but I knew I needed to keep a cool head until we got the information we needed.
I dragged Baxter into the alley, passing by parked cars on my right. Next to me, Slater was all but bouncing on his heels. He was ready to kick some ass. Julian was, too, but that kind of violence didn’t get him riled up the way it did Slater.
Then a sound stopped me in my tracks. A car was coming down the alley. Fast.
I reacted instinctively, shoving Baxter down as I dropped to the ground. Julian crouched behind a dumpster and Slater was on the ground next to me. Both of them had their guns drawn.
Headlights went on, blinding us. As I blinked against the light, I made out an SUV racing toward us. I flinched, prepared to abandon Baxter and roll out of the way, but then it spun around and screeched to a halt.
The back window was open, and there was only one reason for that.
Shit.
I dove behind a row of trash cans as bullets crackled over me. Slater rolled out of sight. Julian, the only one of us who’d found some decent cover, took aim and fired back. Slugs lodged in the metal trash cans with a deafening clatter, and I soldier-crawled my way over to Julian. Another loud sound nearby told me that Slater was getting some shots in.
As I got to my feet, I looked for Baxter, but he was long gone. Clearly, the little prick had some powerful backers. I trained my sights on the SUV, determined to make those motherfuckers pay.
The windshield of the SUV blew inward and someone inside the car cried out. More bullets flew, but then the SUV backed out away. They’d done what they’d came to do—Baxter had escaped.
“Shit,” Slater panted, joining us once the coast was clear. “Now I really want to kill that SOB.”
“You guys okay?” Julian asked.
I was covered in filth, but unharmed. Slater had a cut in his arm from a piece of metal that had been dislodged in the gun battle. It would probably form yet another scar.
“Cowardly little shit,” Slater fumed. “Had to have a whole crew just to keep him safe.”
“He had to have known we’d be looking for him,” I grunted.
“If he had any brains, he’d be in a safe house, not a strip club,” Julian commented, but we all knew Sean Baxter was dumb as shit.