Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
I open my eyes to find us sitting on the tarmac of a small airfield, the matte black Cerberus jet mere feet from my window.
I knew the guys had the plane. They also use a helicopter I've ridden in a couple of times for some mission in Tennessee, but I've never been on this plane. I opted to ride my bike from Tennessee, needing the time to really think over my decision and make sure staying with the club was the best option for me.
"That's impressive," I say as I open my door and climb out.
"She gets the job done," Kincaid says with pride as he looks at the jet.
We climb the small staircase into the plane and wait for takeoff. I relax once again, breathing with purpose, slowly in and out.
In what seems like minutes, the plane is touching down at another small airfield just outside of Denver.
I stand, stretching my arms over my head, preparing myself for whatever situation we may be facing. I know I need to be ready for anything, but I doubt we'll be met with force from this motherfucker. We also have to keep in mind that Colorado is an open-carry state, and anyone with a gun is a threat.
I run every scenario through my head as we load into the SUV waiting for us on the tarmac. This isn't some South American country. I know I can't step up to this man and shoot him in the face. I mean, I can, but the aftermath won't be positive for me.
A part of me hopes he pulls a weapon, so we have justification to take him down, but I know, even then, I'd be expected to handle the situation with caution.
As highly trained individuals, the law holds us to a different standard than it would for the common person. The threat has to be greater. There has to be no avenue for de-escalation. Our fear level has to be higher.
My mind wanders back to Juliet's empty apartment, and the disappointment I felt that I didn't find him hiding in the closet. If he had been, the situation would've been easier to manage, and we wouldn't even have to worry about dealing with this PI. Honestly, this trip probably would have happened, eventually. This guy needs to stop helping men hurt women, and what better way to make sure that happens than a little visit and a warning of what can happen if he continues.
"From what Max could tell," Kincaid says as Shadow drives off the airport property. "Whitmore contacted more than a dozen private investigation firms before he found someone willing to work with him."
"Surprised it took that many," Hound mutters.
"Criminal and civil liabilities tend to keep most investigators from engaging with men like Whitmore," Kincaid explains. "I'd say a lot might take a job without thorough vetting of the client."
"Do you think that's what happened with this guy?" I ask.
It would be a lot easier to stomach if this guy were lazy rather than being aware of what he was actually helping Whitmore do.
"Not a chance," Kincaid says. "His communications started before Whitmore even got out of prison. Max was able to confirm the guy's research from day one. He knew what Whitmore had done, and who the victim was."
"He just didn't fucking care," Harley growls, his anger inching up with the news.
"We set up a meeting with Derek Kessler, made sure he knew what we were looking for," Shadow explains. "Same scenario—inmate fresh out of prison looking to track down the person who put him there."
"Did he even hesitate?" Griffin asks.
"Not in the way you'd expect," Kincaid mutters, his voice dripping with disdain. "He increased the consultation fee. Stating that the increased risk he'd be taking came with a discretion fee."
A rumble of annoyance scatters through the SUV, and knowing all of this isn't going to help me keep my cool when we confront him.
"Max is also working through his cases to see just how many others he might be working with that have situations like this one with Juliet," Kincaid adds.
"How is this going to play out?" I ask, wanting to know the expectations instead of making my own plans.
What I want to do to the man will not be the same thing they have in mind.
"I'm going to go through my needs for his services and see where he stands," Kincaid says as he pulls off his shirt, leaving him in a tank top.
He looks every bit the angry biker. Tattoos line nearly every inch of available skin, and I highly doubt the man is even going to look twice at him and realize that the ink is perfect, not something that he would've gotten with a homemade gun and needle created with supplies available to inmates while incarcerated.
"I want to verify that he is the piece of shit we suspect," Kincaid continues.