Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
I look up with an arch to my brows. “Yeah, how could it be worse?”
Willow laughs and shakes her head. “Well, we could be cleaning up after a kiddie birthday party, and you’d be putting those muscles to good use getting frosting off the floors, the wall, even under the tables.”
She laughs when my eyes go comically wide.
“See? It could be worse.”
She’s right, of course, but I am exhausted beyond belief. Some of my fatigue is due to the early mornings with Maven at For Goodness Cakes, but also the late nights buried between her thighs and making her scream my name until she’s hoarse with pleasure, body limp and sated.
But it’s not just losing myself in Maven that’s got me feeling tired and angry and frustrated as fuck. So much shit is happening with no fucking progress.
“Yeah, I guess,” I admit and clean the table, thinking about the missing prospects and what, if anything, they have to do with the death of Hector. Is one of our newbies the mole, and if so, how deep do the betrayal and the deception go?
And now Braden and his wife are dead.
“Fuck,” I mumble under my breath.
I have no fucking answers, adding to my frustration. But it’s not just Jordi and Devon. It’s also finding out exactly who’s behind making my MC look like we dabble in human trafficking.
Gia’s been working nonstop, and still we haven’t tracked down the person or people involved. This shit is something we’ll have to monitor constantly or risk the Feds jumping up our asses. It’s a lot all at once, and I know it comes with the MC life, but a break would be nice right about now.
“All done,” Willow chirps with more energy than any one person should have after a full day of smiling, baking, and cleaning. “Now we flip the chairs, and we can go check on Maven.”
I nod. “Thank fuck.” We go back to work, me flipping chairs while Willow sweeps up the debris behind me.
“So, how are things with Maven?”
I shrug. “Why don’t you ask her?”
“Duh, I have asked her, but now I’m asking you. I know what she thinks, and now I want to know what you think.”
“I like her,” I say noncommittally. “She’s cool.”
“Cool? What, are we in the seventh grade?” She snorts behind me, and though I can’t see her, I can feel her shaking her head at my dumb male answer. “You like her, and you’re not just fucking with her head, are you?”
“I’m not.” Though my life might be easier right now if Maven was just a booty call.
Willow laughs. “You don’t sound happy about it, so I’ll take that as a good sign.”
I turn to ask her what in the hell that means, but the ground shakes beneath my feet, cutting off my words. The doors rattle to the loud roar of an explosion tearing through the air. Willow wobbles on her feet, and I reach out to steady her. “You okay?”
She nods and pushes her hair off her face. “Yeah. What the fuck was that?”
I sigh and look outside. In the distance, there’s a giant plume of black smoke. I know that sign. Whatever just went boom is full of chemicals, either natural or possibly an accelerant.
“Something exploded,” I tell her, my gaze fixed on the black smoke as I work out in my mind what businesses are located in that direction. Several Reckless Souls properties and businesses, and it can’t be a fucking coincidence. Or an accident.
“Fuck,” I mutter and return to flipping the chairs onto the tables, thankful for the distraction as I wait for more bad news to come.
“Did you guys…holy shit.” Maven races from the kitchen, and she practically skids to a stop at the sight of the black cloud that is quickly covering most of the sky over Angel Harbor. “What the fuck?”
Her foul-mouth response puts a smile on my face. She’s the one bright spot in this goddamn war brewing between the Reckless Souls and Iron Kings. She’s the only thing that makes me smile as I help make sure everyone is prepared for what’s coming.
“Something went boom,” I say, trying to lighten the tension in the room, the palpable fear emanating from both women.
“You think it’s one of the factories? It feels like it’s really close, so do you think it could be the textile factory or the food processing plant?”
There’s so much hope swimming in her hazel eyes, and I know she’s willing herself to believe this explosion has a reasonable—not terrible—explanation.
I want to give her hope, and more than that, I don’t want to be the one to snatch it from her, but I can’t lie to her. I won’t.
“No,” I say as another loud crack sounds and shakes the floor with so much force we all reach out to tables and counter to stay on our feet.