Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“She suffered a gunshot wound to the face,” she started with, causing me to inwardly flinch. “The angle in which she was shot caused the bullet to go in just under her eye, shattering her cheekbone. Her jaw, luckily, is not broken. Unluckily, the bullet is lodged in her neck, just short of her spine.”
I swallowed hard.
“Other than her cheekbone, it missed miraculously everything vital. She’s going to be in pain. She’s going to look like Frankenstein for a minute, but she’s going to make it. I have every reason to believe she’ll make a full recovery,” she expounded.
I nodded once.
“Do you want to inform the sister?” she asked.
I shook my head. “No.”
I needed to get the fuck out of here.
I needed to break something.
And that something would be the man responsible for what had just happened to the love of my life.
“If you need anything, come find me.” She left, leaving me standing there, heartbroken and angry. So fucking angry.
Pulling my phone out of my pocket, I gave Aella’s phone a call.
I knew that she wouldn’t answer it.
It was still sitting on the counter at the bank where she’d left it.
Fuck, all she’d done was go get a bank account with her sister.
Something so stupidly simple that made her so fucking happy.
God.
Her voicemail answered, and I heard her voice say, ‘I’m not here right now, leave me a message. Or, better yet, text me. Because I never answer the phone.’
At the beep I said, “I love you. And I accept. When do you want to get married?”
The men of the Truth Tellers Motorcycle Club gathered around me.
We were in a parking lot in the middle of Downtown Dallas, and we were listening to Apollo explain what he’d found on the hit that’d been put out on Aella and the others.
“…Arriel Jimenez thinks he’s smart and savvy, but he’s not. I was able to track his IP address, which in turn gave me his location because he was stupid enough to think that his shit was unhackable. It wasn’t. He’s currently in that hotel right there with his team.” Apollo jerked his head toward the hotel in question. “He’s set to leave in fifteen minutes via limo.”
“Who’ll be with him?” Webber asked.
My pocket pinged, and I pulled my phone out of my pocket to see I had a text message from Val.
Val:
They’re changing doctors now. A plastic surgeon has come in to make the final repairs, as per your request.
I tapped a quick reply and shoved it back into my pocket, once again returning my attention back to the group.
“…and another man that we’ve now identified as his bodyguard. The one that did the shooting,” Apollo answered.
“Well, I can pick him up,” Cakes said as he smoothed his hand down the lapels of his black custom-fitted Armani suit.
He’d been at a work function when I’d called him to explain what had happened.
The two of us were both here, when we should be there, for one reason.
To get our revenge.
I wouldn’t have her waking up from surgery and feeling unsafe.
We would get this taken care of now, before she could fully acknowledge that fear.
And we’d do it in a way that everyone would think twice about messing with a Truth Teller’s old lady or daughter again.
“Perfect,” Webber said. “Here the limo comes now.”
I stepped out into the street, forcing the limo to stop or hit me.
The driver stared at me hesitantly, and I jerked my thumb and said, “Get out.”
He swallowed hard but proved he wasn’t stupid.
He got out of the vehicle and held his hands up.
“You just got the night off.”
Thirty minutes later, Cakes was pulling into the underground garage of the newest acquisition of the Truth Tellers MC.
Funny enough, the Truth Tellers were pretty affluent in the area, and owned not one, but three hotels. One of which was the one that the congressman had just been driven to.
Though the hotel wasn’t a hotel anymore, but a halfway house that veterans could move into when they were having trouble and needed family and friends nearby.
Cakes’s baby, now called One Way, was fully owned and operated by a nonprofit organization that the Truth Tellers MC had set up for this very specific project.
We wanted a place for veterans that were struggling to live and thrive on their own where they could go where they had their own surrounding them, but also a safe place where it was top of the line, and they could visibly see that they were more than safe.
The place also had a couple of live-in specialists that were available twenty-four-seven if any of the veterans residing in One Way had trouble and needed to talk to someone who could help them walk through their demons.
Cakes brought the idea to the table last year sometime when he’d lost a close friend due to suicide.