Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 65552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 328(@200wpm)___ 262(@250wpm)___ 219(@300wpm)
He sat up a little straighter in his seat. “Mustang, drive us to our hideout. Mimic, can you make some calls and find out exactly where they’re going to be held? Discreetly, of course?”
“Sure thing.” She pulled out her phone, opening up her infinite list of contacts and typing something into the search bar. Moments later, she had the phone up to her ear and was whispering with her contact.
“Doc, Phantom, either of you bring a laptop?”
Phantom nodded, leaning around his seat and grabbing a backpack. He handed the entire thing over to Wyatt, slumping back into the chair, a hand over his eyes.
“Thanks, Phantom.” Before Wyatt grabbed the laptop, he turned and put a hand on Phantom’s knee. “Your sister was manipulated into this, okay? If anyone’s at fault for this, it’s Leonidas. Once we’ve got Roman and Bang Bang back, we’ll take the tome back and make Leonidas pay for everything he’s done.”
“That’s a big fucking bill he’s racked up,” Phantom said.
Wyatt let Phantom simmer. He didn’t want to push anything, not when all of their nerves were as frayed as they were. He focused instead on the computer in his lap, hooking it up to his phone’s cellular connection and opening up a blank email. He typed in the address of someone he was sure he’d never speak to again.
The subject line was simple: I need your help.
Don’t worry, Roman. We’re coming for you. I’m coming for you.
Wyatt typed out a message and hit Send, the car once again slipping into a heavy silence, broken only by Mimic’s newly accented voice asking for information regarding the arrests of Roman and Bang Bang.
Roman Ashford
Roman shuffled down the narrow hall, white concrete walls surrounding him, cramped. His hands were handcuffed in front of him, and he’d changed from the three-piece tailored suit to a baggy pair of orange pants and tan shirt, rough against his skin. He walked with his head down, avoiding making any eye contact with the men shouting from inside their cells. Some accompanied their curses and insults with spit. Others rattled the bars with their hands, banging their heads against the hard metal.
Roman stuck out like a sore thumb with his clean haircut and fit physique, his permanent baby face hiding the fact that he could hold his own against these men.
“Get in,” the warden said as they reached an empty cell at the end of the row. Roman was unceremoniously pushed into the cell, the heavy door sliding shut and locking on its own. The officer motioned toward the cuffs. Roman stuck his hands out of the small opening in the door and let the officer release his wrists.
For a split second, Roman considered what would happen if he reached for the officer’s shirt and slammed him against the bars. Could he muster enough force to knock the guy out? He might be able to reach for the keys, but getting out of the prison would be an entirely different obstacle.
He brought his hands back to his side, the officer shutting the small opening with another key before leaving Roman inside his new home.
He looked around, the gray walls scratched up and stained, some of it appearing to be dried blood. There was a small bed pushed up against the wall, the thin blue “mattress” exposed, also showing off a collection of different stains. There was a pile of scratchy white sheets set at the foot of the bed. To the left of that was the toilet, exposed and open, a tiny sink directly next to it. No mirror, no medicine cabinet, no nothing.
Roman was up a creek without a paddle in sight, a waterfall roaring ahead of him. He was fucked. Completely and irreparably fucked.
But at least it was him in there and not Wyatt. He found a sliver of comfort in that thought. Wyatt would have been chewed up and spat out ten times over before the day was done. At least Roman could handle himself, and if luck was on their side (not that it had been up until then), Bang Bang might be nearby. If he could find him, get a message to him, then maybe they could coordinate a way to break out.
It was a big if. Made more difficult by the fact that he was being held in a maximum-security prison. No cafeteria time, no outdoor time, no way to get together with anyone else. He’d be under constant watch, for crimes he hadn’t even committed.
Roman sat on the edge of the bed, the bed frame creaking as if it were seconds from turning to dust underneath him. There weren’t any windows, just solid concrete, making it near impossible for Roman to keep track of time. He instinctively looked to his wrist—pointless since his watch was already confiscated and likely on its way home with one of the officers.