Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
“We start hunting,” I growled, not looking up from my laptop where I’d typed some computer code to do an impossible but hopefully fruitful search.
I triggered Pim’s true name again. I input physical descriptions of the men into the dark web where criminals proudly bragged about extorts and laundering. The dark web was where their resume and accomplishments hid, impressing or threatening other outlaws they wished to do business with.
I’d already looked up Sullivan Sinclair from Hawk’s masquerade and found he had a simple file. Men like him scared me the most—the ones who didn’t have the need to discuss their accomplishments because they either had too many to list or they were too dark to mention.
All he’d been willing to share was a PO Box with the cryptic tagline: provider of leisure and pleasure. In my world…new rules apply.
That was it. No photos of his services or inflated ego trips. Not even a business name. He was almost boring in the colourful underworld with no way to tell if he was lethal or law-abiding.
Unfortunately, even in my manic trawling for the men who’d shot me, I’d come up empty. Pim’s name didn’t herald any alerts. My digital composite of what I thought they looked like sank into internet obscurity. My options were running painfully thin.
“Should I get the car organised? Do you have any idea where they might’ve taken her?”
My head whipped up, my gaze narrowing on Selix. “No.”
“Want me to drive around anyway? See if we can find clues the old-fashioned way.”
“No.”
“What do you want to do then?”
My fingers—minus my broken one—flew over the keyboard, searching…always searching. “I want to fucking kill them.”
“Okay…” Moving to take a seat in front of my desk, he picked up a sliver of wood from my cello. Using it to clean beneath his fingernails, he muttered, “We’re in France but at a stalemate. Who’s to say they even have Pim here?”
“They have to.”
“Why?” He cocked his head. “They could live anywhere in Europe. Hell, they could be in China for all we know.”
“They’re from here, and they’re tied to their country. I believe they live here, and until something hints otherwise, I’m not leaving.”
Here I’m close to Pim.
Even if I can’t get to her.
“What info have you got so far?” Placing the cello shard on my desk, he watched me expectantly.
Stilling my fingers on the laptop, I reeled off, “They have to have money, judging by the getaway boat you described. They have to be involved in criminal activity to know how to hack into a police file. They have to be French because of their accents—they were thick, not watered down with different dialects or time overseas. They have to be trustworthy for someone to sell them the automatic guns they were using. They have to be—”
Selix held up his hand. “Okay, I sense your OCD coming out to play here, Prest. How about you tone it down some? Give me something to do instead of taking it all on yourself?” Pointing at my multitude of injuries and bandages, he added, “I know you’re fully capable of ripping the entrails from these motherfuckers but let me help.” He hung his head. “Let me ease some of the guilt for not helping in time last night.”
I wanted to bellow that he could help by leaving me alone; that a part of me blamed him for not coming sooner while another part was glad because if he hadn’t been on the dock, he might’ve been shot too, and we both would’ve drowned.
My thoughts were a tangled fucking mess; I’d be the first to admit I was close to losing it. I couldn’t afford to lose my cool and yell because if I let go, everything would come pouring out. I’d blame him and me and even Pim.
I’d give in to the itch inside my brain to find a logical explanation for how and why this had happened. I was so fucking close to going crazy that I clutched to rationality with bloodied fingernails.
Focus on Pim and only Pim.
Once she was safe, then I could work through the rest of my shit.
“Just…let me do this, all right, Selix?” I looked up, sighing with pain and exhaustion. With every keyboard peck, my elbow and shoulder screamed. With every shift, my ankle and ribs cried.
I hated how weak I was.
I hated everyone because of it.
Holding eye contact, he gnawed on his bottom lip before nodding slowly. Glancing away, he shifted in his chair and pulled out my weed tin from of his pocket.
With a wry smile, he smoothed out a paper, spread a generous amount of dried skunk, then licked the seam and rolled. Holding out the fat joint, he grabbed the lighter from my desk. “Do it your way, Prest. I’ll be there to help exterminate when you find them.”