Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132437 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 441(@300wpm)
A cold shaft of terror sharpened Allhan’s mind to a dagger point. “You don’t know where she is or you would have already gone there.”
“But last night changed everything for me. Do you miss the friends you’ve been going to Bathe with? Those males who smelled like cologne and wore such beautiful clothes? Those males, the ones I met last night. In the alley.”
Allhan felt the world spin and threw a hand out for balance.
“I thought you were getting a little complacent,” the slayer said. “Focus is an important characteristic in life if you want to get ahead, if you want to do important things. So myself and an associate took care of your distraction and I learned all kinds of things. You have one week, and then your sister dies—oh, and don’t try to move her. We have her glass house staked out as we speak—I’m watching her cut melon at her counter right now. She obviously takes care of herself.”
The connection got cut off, and in a fit of rage, Allhan hauled the burner back like he was going to throw the fucking thing to the other side of Caldwell.
Except he couldn’t lose his one way to keep in touch with the enemy.
As his emotions exploded in his chest, he opened up his mouth.
And roared into the night.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Down at street level, L.W., a.k.a. Wrath, blooded son of Wrath, the great Blind King, and the Queen Elizabeth, heard a vicious yell and turned in the direction of the sound. He was two blocks east and north of where he guessed it was coming from, and he might have missed the ugly blaring holler if the wind hadn’t carried the aggression to him.
As he pivoted in the snow, his shitkicker grabbed and squeaked, and the pain that shot out from his hip nearly made him Polo the Marco with a couple curses of his own.
“Fucking humans,” he muttered as he forced himself to keep walking. “Always making noise.”
His body was beat to shit, the injuries racking up in layers and not clearing like they used to. Like he needed them to. And this was even after he’d fed recently.
What a shit show that had been. But he wasn’t thinking about Bitty and what he’d done to her. Not here. Not now.
That’s what the daylight hours were for. Out here in the dark, he was on the clock.
Stalking the base of one of the skyscrapers by the city library, he felt the cold air swirl around him, but was numb to the frigid temperature. He didn’t let the snowbanks slow him down, either. As he came to the Lincoln Street intersection, he up-and-over’d yet another mini-mountain with a jump—
Only to land in the path of an oncoming SUV.
Holy horn blare, Robin.
The driver stomped on the brakes and went into a controlled skid that brought the Range Rover right up to the tips of L.W.’s shitkickers. At which point, the man behind the wheel lost no time rolling his window down and cursing up a fucking blue streak.
L.W. put his hand on the front grille and pushed the entire vehicle back a couple of feet. Then he bared his fangs and snarled.
Cue the oopsies.
“My bad,” the man mumbled as that window went riiiiiiight back up. Then in a muffled voice: “Sorry I was in your way. No problem, good to go.”
Babble, babble, babble.
For a split second, L.W. imagined punching out the safety glass, and grabbing the bastard by the throat. Even as sore as he was, all it would take was a good yank, and he could drag the fucker into the street. At which point they could have a little dance.
His cell phone going off in his pocket cut short that impulse. Which ultimately might—or might not—have been overridden on a cooler-heads-prevailing kind of thing.
This better be the intel I’m looking for, he thought as he saw who it was.
L.W. continued across the intersection as he answered. “What did you find.”
Rhampage, blooded son of the Black Dagger Brother Qhuinn and the Chosen Layla, adopted son of Blaylock, son of Rocke, and the Bastard Xcor, didn’t waste time.
“I don’t have the address.”
L.W. stopped again and glared up at the facade of the Caldwell Public Library. “What do you mean.”
“I can’t find it anywhere,” the fighter snapped. “The Brotherhood hasn’t put the address of where those two torture victims were found in the scene reports.”
“They’ve hidden it on purpose.”
“No shit.” There was a pause. “You sure your father hasn’t said anything about you going out into the field on the low-low? Maybe they hid it from us because they don’t want you going there.”
“My father doesn’t matter in this.”
“Are you fucking serious right now.” There was the hiss of a vape. “We’re one more bright idea away from house arrest, and your dad’s got more than the juice to make that lockdown a reality.”