Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 111329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111329 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 557(@200wpm)___ 445(@250wpm)___ 371(@300wpm)
Victoria steps out then, and Perkins eyes move from her to me.
“This is my home.”
“Not anymore.”
“That’s them,” I say as an old pick-up truck rolls to a stop at the light ahead of us.
Bass parked just after the bridge where the Graven side of town begins.
I’ve stayed in Collins’ house, but I’ve never actually seen the Graven Estate that is apparently the entire back half of this end of the city.
“He’s looking right at you.”
I nod, right as Gio looks away, their vehicle passing right by us.
“Okay, let’s go.”
“Shouldn’t we talk to them, make a plan or something?” Victoria sits forward in her seat.
“No. They know how to do their jobs better than anyone, I’m not gonna sit here and tell them how to do it. Drive, Bishop.”
He gets back on the road, making the right onto the street and following it down about two miles.
“There it is.”
We pull up to the iron gate, three times as tall as me, large curled spikes at the tips. The street literally dead ends at their property entryway.
“How do we open it?” I ask.
“Where did the others go?” Victoria asks.
I shrug, frowning as the gate opens before us. “Bass...”
“I know.” He rolls forward and the second the tail of the car is past the metal strip on the ground, the gate closes us in, a man stepping from behind a shrub with a gun at his hip, a wire hanging from his ear.
I unbuckle my seatbelt, and Bass follows, dipping his hands into his ashtray before we step out.
He stays at my back as I keep advancing. “Get out of my way.”
A small smile plays on the man’s lips. “Don’t work like that.”
“I’ll ask one more time before I make you.”
The man glares this time, reaching for his earpiece, but not before Bass quickly darts forward. He tosses the ashes in his face, dips in and rips the gun from his jeans while tearing the piece from his ear.
The man rushes back a step as he swipes at his eyes, blinking rapidly. “What do you think you’re doing?”
“I said move.”
The man scoffs, his lip curling. “You’re not in charge here.”
Bass shoots him in the foot and the man howls.
Victoria steps from the car, tossing him a roll of duct tape – must be a Bray staple, keeping duct tape on you – and places it over his mouth. The two drag him behind the shrub, wrapping his hands and feet together.
I crouch down beside him while they move back for the car. “You might wanna try hobbling out the gate. Don’t be a hero. Heroes die.”
He glares but then gives a curt nod, dropping his eyes from mine.
I don’t step back in the car when they slide inside it, I walk the hundred yards down the driveway with them on my tail.
The men on the porch glare, stepping closer to me, their hands on their waists but when I keep toward them, something shifts in their demeanor. They hesitate, then stand taller.
They fall aside.
“Ms. Brayshaw.” The one closest to the door drops his head while reaching for the handle.
I glance back at Bass and Victoria, who have just opened their doors and stepped out.
Bass lifts his arms, propping his elbow on the hood. “Your call.”
“Flip the car around and wait.”
“I’m coming with you,” Victoria shouts but her feet don’t move.
“No, you’re not.”
I turn back and step through the entryway.
Voices float from the left, so I slowly follow the sounds.
Two women smile at each other, laundry in both their hands, crisp white bedding stacked perfectly in front of them. The flooring alerts them of my presence and both their gazes snap to mine. Their smiles fade instantly, their laughter disappearing with it.
The women quickly drop what’s in their hands, duck their heads and begin to walk away.
“Wait, stop.” I quickly slide over, blocking their escape.
They gasp, their muscles tensing. “We’re sorry, Ms. Brayshaw. We—”
“Did nothing to be sorry about.” I frown, glancing between the two.
After a moment, one of the women meets my eyes, and I’ve got to give it to her. Not once does she look to the bruising surrounding it.
“Tell me where I can find Donley.”
Curious, she tilts her head, but still answers. “He spends his evenings in the study.”
“And where is that?”
“The way you came, to the right of the entrance, then follow the hall.”
I nod, taking a few backward steps. “Get out of the house,” I tell them before turning and doing as they said.
I only make it a few feet into the hall when the sweet scent of a cigar leads me past a staircase and to a tall, wide-open archway.
The second my feet pass the threshold his head pops up, and his pen falls from his hand.
He shakes off his surprise and uncertainty with his next breath, but the extra wrinkles lining his eyes give him away.