Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132321 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 529(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
No warnings to be careful from my loving father. Either he trusts the bikers not to hurt me or he doesn’t care if they do.
Confused, nervous, and more excited than a prudent woman should be, I hurry into my bedroom. In my cavernous closet, that’s really more like a long, narrow bedroom, I study my options. A wig seems silly. There’s no reason to disguise myself. I settle on thick black leggings, a black, long-sleeved T-shirt, and black sweatshirt. Finally, I twist my blonde hair into a loose bun and tuck it under a black knit cap.
The full-length mirror on the back of my closet door says I look like an amateur cat burglar.
No time to change. My father didn’t give me a timeframe for when the bikers are going to rumble in here and make me an accessory to whatever crimes they’ve committed tonight.
I slip my feet into a pair of black sneakers and head down the wide, carpeted staircase to the first floor. Small motion lights pop on to brighten my way. Something necessary when I get calls in the middle of the night. The second floor is dark. My cousin’s either asleep or out. On the first floor, I stop in the main kitchen and grab a bottle of water out of the fridge. Who knows how long I’ll be waiting outside.
Darkness surrounds the parking lot behind the house. I shut off the motion-sensor lights that flood the parking lot whenever a car pulls in. It’s not a populated area and it’s not like we don’t use the crematorium at night sometimes, but I’d rather not call attention to our activities. There’s enough moonlight and lights spilling from the house to see what we’re doing.
I glance over at my father’s house, beyond the home’s multi-car garage. All the windows are dark. Sure, my father probably went home and to sleep after he woke me up.
How much time do I have before the bikers get here?
I open the door to the crematorium and flip the lights on inside the low, brick building. The tools they’ll need are lined up neatly against the opposite wall.
Now that it’s ready. I return to the back porch, sit on the bottom step and stare up at the inky-blue sky.
Will Jigsaw be with the bikers tonight?
Three or four different vehicles roar along the main street out front. That has to be them.
A few seconds later, a dark, lifted truck pulls into the parking lot. A loud, rumbling diesel pickup follows, then another truck, and finally three or four motorcycles roar over the blacktop.
What the hell? It’s like Mad Max and all his furious buddies just invaded my peaceful home.
Dark, shadowy figures step out of the trucks. I stand, clutching my water bottle tight in my hands.
What am I going to do if they attack—soak them with my spring water? They’re bikers, not vampires. And this isn’t holy water.
One of the dark figures moves to the tailgate of the first truck but he’s stopped from opening it by the driver.
Four men move toward the house, and I hurry to meet them in the middle of the parking lot. As I get closer, I recognize the men who came to meet with my father, including Jigsaw.
My heart beats faster but I keep my expression blank. Should I say hello or just nod in greeting?
He’s not here to flirt. He’s here to burn a body.
Shaking that off, I focus on Marcel who seems to be limping and…bleeding? “Are you hurt?” I gasp when he stops in front of me.
So much for not asking any questions. But I can’t help it. I didn’t expect them to show up injured. Should I offer to get him a first aid kit or something?
Marcel flashes a faint smile. “I’ll be all right.” He tilts his head toward the crematorium building. “I’m not sure what information your father gave you…”
“He said to give you whatever you need.” My gaze sweeps over the other men. No one else seems injured, but they all look weary and on edge.
“Show us how it works.” Marcel nods to the building. “That’s all we need.”
It’s almost like he wants me to hand over the keys and go away. “Oh. All right. I can do that.”
I sneak a quick look at Jigsaw, but he’s focused on one of the other trucks that pulled into the parking lot.
The man who tried to open the tailgate joins us. He’s—surprise, surprise—another tall, muscled man with hair as black as midnight and piercing blue eyes. Every bit as good-looking as the other men. Maybe “sexy underwear model look” is a requirement to join their motorcycle club. Handsome as he is, his expression is as grim as the other four. He doesn’t bother to introduce himself and I don’t ask.
“I’ll get it started.” I turn. “Follow me.”