Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64320 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 322(@200wpm)___ 257(@250wpm)___ 214(@300wpm)
I take a whiff and immediately regret it. “This is where he’s going, though, right?”
“Should already be there,” he answers.
“That’s what it said on his profile. ‘Getting ready for the party,’” he elaborates beneath his breath and shoves his hands in his pockets.
It’s bitter cold and the city streets are packed with people shopping and moving about like normal.
“I don’t believe in coincidences,” I tell Mason and bring it up again.
His eyes flicker to me and then back across the street.
“There’s no way she happens to do speed,” I tell him. I’ve known Samantha for a long damn time. “Her husband dabbles in all sorts of drugs recreationally. But she doesn’t touch it. She never has.”
“It’s possible she does it on the down low,” he suggests. “You’d be surprised how many people do coke nowadays.”
I shake my head. “There has to be a connection between her and the dealer.”
“We’re gonna find out, aren’t we?” he asks me, although it’s a rhetorical question.
“What’s the plan?”
“All we need is an address.”
“Just follow him, then?” I ask with disbelief.
“Only for a bit, then we switch off so we aren’t seen.”
“Switch off to who?”
“I got some guys,” Mason says, and frustration gets the best of me.
“I want to be the one—” I start, but he’s quick to cut me off.
“You want to keep her safe? Getting into this shit isn’t what you need. That’s not what the man who deserves to be at Kat’s side would do.”
That shuts me up, but I fucking hate it. He’s been edging me out of this. Giving me less and less.
“So, we just wait?” I ask him again.
“Yeah,” he answers, and his breath turns to fog, “just wait.”
Almost an hour passes before I think about going back to Kat. She has no idea what this could mean. I’m sure she’ll be pissed I took off in addition to cutting our date short. Sirens wail in the distance and the busy city night reminds me of how things used to be.
“Fuck me,” I say out loud and run my hands down my face.
“Sorry, you’re not my type,” Mason says so matter-of-factly from his spot next to me, I grunt a short laugh despite myself. “I feel so fucking trapped.”
“I know the feeling,” Mason tells me, and I give him a sidelong glance. His stare only hardens. “I know what it’s like to be in a lose-lose situation where the stakes are high.” He looks forward, staring at the opposite brick wall in the thin alley. “Too high,” he mutters under his breath.
“So, what do you do?” I say and get his attention again. “How do you win?” I ask him with all sincerity as if he has an answer that will put an end to this hell.
He shakes his head as he looks down at the ground and replies, “Sometimes there’s not a way to win, only a way to survive.”
I have to tear my eyes away from him, knowing he’s right and when I do, I spot something. My arm reaches out and I smack him in the chest.
“Visual.” The single word is barely spoken from me, and Mason doesn’t hesitate to take out his phone and call the tail. “He’s here,” he speaks into the phone as both of us watch the perp, chatting with some guy in an open doorway on Twentieth and Broadway. Even from his profile, I know it’s him.
Every muscle in my body coils, ready to fight. It’s been weeks of holding back and not being able to do anything. And just across the street is the last piece to this puzzle of fucking misery.
Dark black hair slicked back and tanned skin with a tattoo scrolling up his neck. It’s definitely him. We got this prick.
The second he’s walking down the stone steps, we’re moving out of the alley and following from across the street. I keep my eyes on him, walking through the thick crowd with my jaw clenched.
“Johnny, we got him.” Mason talks into his cell phone as we walk. I try not to make it obvious that we’re following the fucker. At the same time, I’m holding back every desire to chase the dealer down and beat the shit out of him to get every bit of information from him.
Mason says we should bribe him. It’s not exactly my style, though.
“Heading down Twenty-second,” I hear Mason say and instinctively I glance up to look at the street sign before turning left to follow him.
My blood’s pumping hard and with every step it gets harder and harder not to pick up speed.
Right as we get to the end of the block and the crosswalk sign turns to a red hand, the fucker walks out, ignoring the oncoming cars and nearly getting hit, but he keeps going, yelling out, “Hey, watch it!” at the drivers as if it’s their fault. I move to do the same. We can’t risk losing him, but Mason puts his arm out in front of my chest to stop me.