Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Sidling up against the building, I listen for the two guards stationed at the shutter door just beyond the next corner.
“Yates said he hasn’t heard from Jennings today,” one says, a twang in his accent.
“So?”
“It’s unusual.”
“Jennings is a fucking asshole. We don’t get paid enough to put up with his bullshit.”
Tapping my blade against a gutter pipe, I prick my ears, grinning when one of them says, “What was that?”
“I didn’t hear anything.”
Tap—tap.
“There—that.”
“It’s probably Jimmy. Why are you so on edge tonight?”
“I don’t know. I’mma check it out.”
“Knock yourself out.”
As he turns the corner, I wait for him to get far enough away from the other guard then emerge from the shadows, my arm coiled tight as I thrust my blade up into his jaw with all my strength. His terrified gaze locks onto mine before his body succumbs to gravity. I grab his weight, aiding his descent to the concrete.
“Yo, tell Jimmy to stop fucking around. I need to take a piss. What the fuck…?”
Stab—stab—stab.
Too easy.
Jogging to the gates, I hit the button. Twenty seconds later, Monster is pulling in with a truck, followed by Dodger and Callan in the van.
Monster loads the bodies while Dodger breaks into the warehouse.
“You good?” Callan asks me, wiping sweat off his brow.
“Yeah.” I run the blade across my forearm, cleaning the blood before sheathing it at my ankle. “They were shit security,” I say, stripping out of the overalls. I check my clothes. Clean as a whistle.
A horn beeps in the distance. Laughter carries from the next building over. Scanning our surroundings, Callan says, “I’m worried about Kitty,” changing the subject abruptly. “She’s been different lately, reclusive—and that shit this morning? I don’t even know what to make of it.”
“Did she say anything?” Like I’m a massive cunt who broke her.
“I was going to ask you the same thing. She doesn’t tell me shit.” He scoffs. “Has she said anything to you?”
“I’m in,” Dodger interrupts, and I’m grateful for it.
“Let’s go.” Callan jogs to the entrance.
A condensed invisible fog hits me in the face as we step inside. Despite the open space, it’s stifling, the musky stench like damp socks slapping into me. Light suddenly engulfs the place, and Dodger grins from beside the switch.
A few crates line the back wall. Dodger goes straight for them, popping the lids. Callan jerks his chin to the small safe sitting in the corner of the room. Checking it out, I attempt to move it, and it shifts easily. It’s freestanding, not even bolted to the floor.
“Dodger, you think you can open this?” Callan asks.
Looking over to see what he’s talking about, Dodger nods. “Not here, though. Too noisy. Bring it with us.”
“What you got over there?” I ask.
Digging into the crate, he pulls out an AK-47. “Five crates full, two empty.”
Callan nods, satisfied. “Let’s get this shit loaded up.”
Grabbing the legs of the last guard, Monster heaves his shoulders, and we push him into the incinerator. “It’s too hot for this shit,” I groan, snatching a bottle of water from the bag and tipping it over my face before gulping half the contents.
“I told you I could handle it.” Monster grins, stroking a hand through his beard.
“Fuck that. Those cunts were heavy.”
“I would have cut them into more manageable pieces,” he says without an ounce of mirth.
“Well, glad I could save you the trouble.”
“You want to get a beer?” he asks.
Checking my watch, I frown. “It’s seven in the morning.”
“So?”
“So, I’ve got somewhere I need to be. You good locking this place up?”
“Sure.”
“Thanks. I’ll catch you later.”
Pushing out of the outhouse stationed at the back of the compound, I jog over to the garage and help myself to Callan’s SUV keys. He left us to do clean up after receiving a picture message from Rogue. I’ve never seen the bastard move so fast. His dick practically tented his jeans as he made excuses to abandon us.
Jumping in the car, I adjust the seat and kick over the engine. Pulling up to the gate, the camera registers the license plate and the metal clanks as it releases.
With a quick nod of acknowledgement to Smiler in the watchtower, I peel out of the compound and make my way down the winding road. I switch the radio on and drum my fingers on the wheel. The streets are empty, and I make it to my destination in under ten minutes.
Parking, I step out of the truck, my boots pounding the sidewalk. Rays of blinding light sneak over the buildings as the sun creeps higher in the sky.
“We open at eight,” a scruffy-looking kid says, sucking on a vape. I fucking hate those things.
“You want to make an exception?” I pull out my money clip, slip out two hundreds, and hold them up to him.
His eyes almost bug out of his pin-sized head. “What do you need?”