Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
I'd seen their faces, but I couldn't place where.
Had they been watching us for a long time? Is that why I recognized them?
"Doesn't look so big and powerful now, does he?" one of the men asked one of the men at his sides.
Nothing about them at first blush told me what organization they belonged to. The older guy seemed Latino, one of the younger guys, Black, the other white. So they weren't one of the many white supremacist assholes who wanted a piece of what we had. They didn't wear cuts, so they weren't bikers.
I had nothing to go on.
"What's the matter? Got nothing to say?" the older guy asked, taunting, showing off for the guys who clearly saw him as a role model of sorts.
"To you? Not a fucking thing."
It was never a great idea to provoke your kidnappers.
It was even more stupid to do so when the main guy was clearly trying to puff his chest in front of the two younger guys.
So I was expecting it when he cocked back and swung, landing a somewhat weak punch to my solar plexus.
One downfall to stringing a tall man up was that if you weren't a giant, you couldn't do a fuck of a lot of blunt-force damage with your bare hands.
"That all you got?" I asked, watching as his eyes blazed. A flush worked its way up the sides of his neck, coloring his cheeks.
He had something to prove.
That was interesting.
Whoever he was, he didn't have the kind of power I had or Luca Grassi or Lo or fucking Quinton Baird had. Our reputations stood on their own. No one needed to prove shit.
This guy was not a big player.
But a small-timer with a lot of ambition was a worthy opponent. Especially if you weren't as hungry as you had once been.
And I wasn't.
But I did have a lot to live for.
Which was its own kind of motivator.
I took a deep breath as he turned to walk behind me, heard the car door outside slamming closed, then footsteps coming close again.
"Watch out," the older guy called to the others, barely waiting for them to scramble backward before cocking back and swinging the bat.
The next couple moments were a pain-soaked blur as I clenched my jaw so tight my teeth ached to keep from letting out my reaction.
It had been a long-ass time since I got a beatdown. And I could practically predict the future arthritic spots as the bat landed to the side of my knee, my shin, across my hip, my lower back, just barely missing the kidney shot I think he was going for.
"Not so fucking big and bad now, are you?" he asked, breathing heavily.
"Dunno man," I said through gritted teeth. "I didn't have to grab a bat to get my point across. Seems there's only one small man here."
The crack to my head was expected.
The unconsciousness as well.
When I woke back up, I was alone again, still hanging, draped in darkness, tasting blood, feeling the trickle of it down the side of my face, feeling the ache of bruises all across my body.
I took a couple deep breaths, trying to focus through the pain.
Even as I did so, I heard it.
The rumble of bikes in the distance.
A dozen of them.
More.
My men were on it.
I just had to pray they found me in time.
FIVE
Eva
I hadn't seen Colson or Jelena at their house in three days.
And I was frustrated with myself for noticing that.
But his bike was missing. His car hadn't moved. The lights didn't go on or off. There were no sounds over there.
He'd never said anything about going away when I had sent that text a few nights before, a text that I had pre-written and refused to press send on for over an hour before—in a moment of insanity—I sent it out.
Then sat with my heart racing and my belly jumping, worried I was being too forward, too clingy.
He'd given me his number as a courtesy, not to exchange casual conversations. We weren't teenagers for God's sake. Adults didn't just start texting one another out of the blue. At least, in my experience, they didn't.
I was actually shocked when he wrote me right back. And even more surprised when his tone was light and easy, that he didn't tell me to fuck off and call me a psycho.
That said, though, I didn't have the balls to be desperate enough to initiate texts twice.
And now Colson was MIA.
And I was stupidly disappointed.
Like a teenage girl with a crush.
When did I become so pathetic?
Even as my thoughts swirled around that same topic for what felt like hours, I saw headlights in the driveway next door.
"Jesus," I hissed when I felt my heart leap up, excitement sizzling across my nerve endings.
Until I saw two people climb out of the car.