Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66697 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“No shit.” Knight's keys rattled hard. “I had the same thing, but I’m pulling archive against live thermal right now and the place is lit up like a Goddamned casino. Bodies, vehicles, the works. Somebody’s been looping me dead footage while they moved back in. That’s not Denton's kind of patience, boss. The fuckers are hardwired to that access road. You’ve got maybe forty minutes before they can vanish her and there’s not a Goddamned thing I can do. You want me live on the line for this?”
“I want you running the cams from where you have the best access. You pull everything you can from every source you have. This is where all that shit I bought you pays for itself. And Knight? Tell Knuckles I’ll cover anything he needs to protect his men from fallout bound to follow tonight. Nobody’s walking away from this.”
“Already on it, boss. I’ll keep you posted. You need a crash team?”
“You take the whole fucking club,” Seth interrupted. “And every Goddamned man Tonio has, Knight. We will bring my daughter-in-law and grandchild home.”
Knight grunted, satisfied. “Done. Go get those motherfuckers.”
Yeah. We were all done playing nice.
We all headed toward Éclipse hard, picking up several more of Kiss of Death as well as several black SUVs carrying my own men. Denton’s people thought they could take what belonged to me. They’d soon find out how wrong they were. We took the road to Éclipse with every intention of razing the place to the fucking ground.
By the time we reached the edge of Denton’s territory, the convoy had tripled in size. Kiss of Death bikes poured in from every side street, and my men were right in the middle of them. Either on their own bikes or in one of the armored SUVs in my fleet.
The first lead came in from Knight as we screamed up Hillsboro Pike. “Spotters in a silver Tacoma three blocks ahead. They flagged your tail as soon as you hit the city limits.”
“Show them what their disrespect is going to cost,” I said to Hawk.
He adjusted his neck, the joints cracking, with grim satisfaction. “That I can do.”
Hawk, Griffin, and Finch flanked the Tacoma with professional speed. Hawk boxed them at a red light and Griffin ripped the driver’s door open before the dumb bastard could reach for his phone. One sharp yank and the guy hit the pavement, chin first, out cold.
Finch took the passenger side. The occupant met him with a pistol, badly concealed. Finch drove his fist into the man’s throat. There was a wet snap and a gurgle before the guy toppled over the console, spasming where he lay.
Finch stripped him of his phone and wallet, handed them to Hawk as I stepped up. “Knight wants these,” he said.
The world tunneled to a point. I saw only the guy’s face, the way he trembled even as his airway collapsed. “Who owns this block?” I demanded.
The dying man tried to speak but managed only a sobbing gasp. Pathetic.
Finch shrugged. “Doesn’t matter. He’s a pawn. Denton rotates them weekly. The actual handler will be at the coffee shop across from the gas station on the next block. Knight’s got a face match.”
“I can work with that.” I took a moment to shove the bastard’s head back into the car and slammed the door. He didn’t move again. I got back in the car and Kellen got us on the road, leading the charge.
We worked fast, barreling through traffic. The next stop was a local handler, a grad-school pretty boy with a two-hundred-dollar haircut. I had no idea how Knight knew where to send us and didn’t have time to contemplate it. So far, he was spot on because when our target clocked us coming, he pulled a runner, trying to escape out the back. Griffin caught him in the alley and helped him face-first onto the pavement.
I knelt by his ear, knife already pressed under his jaw. “You want out of this without screaming, you give me the route Denton’s van is running.”
He pissed himself. Literally.
“Cameras on every intersection between the interstate and the river,” he babbled. “Denton’s guy calls them in as they pass, then the tapes are wiped. You can’t track her through the city cams unless you are slicing the feeds in real time.”
I pressed harder with the knife. “Are you the call-in?”
He nodded, face mashed on gritty concrete. “Yeah. I do the flag. Please, man --”
“Do what you’re supposed to. And before you think you can fuck me over, I’m keeping you alive until this all goes down. How hard you die after depends on what happens in the next few minutes.”
He nodded his head wildly, looking more like a bobblehead doll than a man. When I checked the phone, the outgoing message hit the chat in seconds. A green dot bounced back from an encrypted contact before a simple “OK.”