Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66977 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 335(@200wpm)___ 268(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
A diversion to get me away from her for a secondary attack.
What if that was whoever’s plan all along?
What if this asshole was just some sort of long con decoy?
“Reynolds,” I snap at the same time I shoot my stare to him, “call Blu. Get a status report.”
He nods, steps closer to the only door, and retrieves his cell to make the call.
“Why didn’t you attack right away?” Unapproved anxiousness has questions springing free at a more rapid pace. “Why didn’t you attack the minute I left the premises? How’d you know when I left the premises? Were you followin’ me?”
“I was,” he airily recalls, swollen lids still struggling not to fall shut. “I tailed you onto the freeway for a bit and then um…headed back. It guaranteed you were gone, and it uh…bought me enough time to not look…suspicious.”
Attacking the moment, I was gone would’ve raised countless alarms.
It would’ve caused an immediate call for my return which I would’ve given because I wasn’t in the middle of a mission. I was at the beginning, the easiest time to cut, regroup, and reschedule.
We would’ve turned our asses right around had anyone sent me a text that they simply felt something was wrong.
Or off.
I’m a man of instinct more than anything else.
That shit has not only saved my life but countless others.
This asshole played it the right way.
He played it smart.
Too bad that’s the choice that’s going to cost him his life.
“Blu says the situation is secure.” Reynolds backtracks to his previous position.
Breaking eye contact is thoughtlessly done. “How secure?”
“He said like Kayley on prom night.”
The reference to his twin sister who opted to go out of town for a spelling bee tournament instead of dealing with spiked punch and bad music sparks a smile, although it doesn’t quite reach my expression.
Reynolds rests his back against the wall upon his return. “Who’s Kayley?”
Not critical information for him to have at this time.
I shift my stare over to the problem we’ve got strapped to a chair and continue to interrogate, “Why were you still here? There was plenty of time between when we left and when we got back that should’ve had you completely done with this op. Why the delay? Why the fuck were you still here?” Watching his eyes begin to roll back into his head has me delivering two hard slaps to the side of his face, metal scraping into the skin, creating new scratches alongside the ones already established. “Eyes. Open. Shitbreath.”
An unpleasant grumble is given as he finds my glare yet again.
“Why the fuck were you still here?”
“Traffic.”
“What?”
“On m-m-my way back there was…an…an…an…accident on the freeway. Tried to get around it and ran into c-c-c-construction. Tried to get around that and…and…and…went on a lengthy fucking de-de-detour. Then…I got…I got…every redlight.” He sneers in disgust and frustration alike. “It was like…like…like…shit just…k-k-k-kept getting in the w-w-w-way.”
Or like angels were answering prayers.
Doing the exact thing we light candles for every night.
Protecting her.
Protecting the one person, I consider to be a piece of me.
The most important piece.
“And then wh-wh-when I finally got back here…the signal scrambler they gave me to deal with security communications – which was left inside the cereal box – wasn’t working, so I h-h-had to wait for that shit to get smoothed out.”
“What a clusterfuck,” Reynolds snorts in amusement.
“O-o-only reason I d-d-didn’t just…abandon the whole thing was b-b-b-because I had already b-b-b-been paid.”
The unexpected drop of information has me quirking an eyebrow. “In full?”
Our prisoner rapidly shakes his head. “H-h-half now. H-h-half after the job was done.”
His choice of words has me clenching the weapons in my grasp tighter and preparing to forgo the foraging for information to obliterate the person who came to kill the love of my life.
“Dead or…alive…contracts…get so…so…so…messy…” he lets his voice and head sink towards the ground until a harsh backhand straightens out his curling spine. “Fuck!”
“Pimp slaps always hurt,” Reynolds nonchalantly announces. “No brass knuckles required for that shit to be true.”
I palm his entire, blue-shaded face with my hand making sure to dig my fingers sharply into the crevices they land into for maximum pain. “Tell me somethin’ worth hearin’, or I’ll rip off your ears to guarantee you never hear a fuckin’ thing again.”
“Tyson style,” the other male in the room jeers.
“Talk.”
“I-I-I-I didn’t have a good feeling about this shit, okay?!” Our detainee tries to shout, prompting me to drop my grip. “All the…traffic shit just left a b-b-bad taste in my mouth, so when I-I-I-I got back to the building I used the burner phone that was also left for me in the cereal box to send a text to the only number on the phone. The same number I was supposed to s-s-s-send proof of completion to.” He makes sure to bore his hooded eyes into mine. “And f-f-f-for the record I wasn’t gonna k-k-kill her. I don’t kill.”