Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63542 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
I nod.
“Then you’re just fucking around. If I were in your shoes, I’d want it all right now for as long as I can get it because who knows what the fuck tomorrow will bring. Feel me?”
I did feel him, goddammit. “So you’re saying I should say something?”
Diesel grunts. “He’s saying shit or get off the pot, man.”
Lucky and I laugh out loud at Diesel’s gruff words. An image of Willow’s smile flashes across my mind. “I’m sure those eloquent words of romance will go over really well with her.”
Lucky waves me off. “Chicks prefer the words no matter how they come out. Willow knows you. She ain’t expecting fucking Shakespeare.” He freezes, and his eyes go wide with a question. “Unless you quote that flowery shit to her when you two are alone?”
I roll my eyes with another laugh even though I know what he’s saying, and he’s right. Still, I can only focus on a few things at a time, and right now, the MC needs me more than Willow needs me to define our relationship.
The bell sounds in front of the shop once and then twice. I frown at the third chime of the bell because someone’s supposed to be up front dealing with the customers, and it sure as shit isn’t me. But the fourth chime gets me to my feet, wiping engine gunk off my hands as I push through to the customer area.
“Welcome to Ace Mot—,” I begin. Then the words die on my lips at the sight of Doherty and the chick beside him, who is most definitely law enforcement.
“Doherty,” I say, nodding.
He nods back. “Joaquin. Looks like the lot is full.” He keeps his tone friendly, trying to make me less nervous, I guess, but it doesn't work.
“Busy around here,” I say and push open the door to the repair bays. “Lucky, grab Ace and Dix. Doherty is here. With company.” I turn back to them and sigh. “What’s up?”
Doherty swipes a rag that once looked like a handkerchief across his damp forehead. “Still no word from Jordi and Devon?” he asks all casual-like.
That little antenna that warns me about trouble is pinging now, but I keep my body still, my expression blank.
“I haven’t seen them in weeks, and neither of them has returned any of my calls.”
“That’s a little odd, isn’t it?” The woman asking has short, curly blonde hair and big blue eyes. Kind of pretty, but looks like a fed.
I nod at her. “Who is this?”
“This,” Doherty begins, “is Agent Stiles from the FBI.”
“So,” she asks, tapping her finger on her chin, “you don’t find it odd you haven’t heard from your friends?”
I nod. “Yes, but apparently, it happens. Guys can’t hack the membership process, and they vanish, too embarrassed to show their faces again.” I know that’s not what happened, but I keep it to myself.
“Was there any beef inside the club? Any infighting?”
“No,” Ace answers from behind me. His deep voice signals he doesn’t take any bullshit. “I won’t allow it.”
“Ever?” Stiles presses, skepticism thick in her voice.
Ace gives it back to her. “Men fight. It’s part of our charm, but nothing that deep. We’ve been looking for them, together and separately since they didn’t disappear on the same day as far as we can tell.” Ace folds his arms and turns to Doherty. “What’s this about? Why the feds?”
The chief sighs and all the little hairs on my neck perk the fuck up because I know that look. I’ve seen it too many times in my life. The first time I saw it, I was around seven, and the police came to tell Mama that my Tio Julio wouldn’t be coming home again.
Doherty tells us the news. “Three bodies were found in the Hollywood Hills, two males, and one female.”
Doherty sighs again and shakes his head. “Their tongues were cut out, and their mouths were sliced open ear to ear. Gruesome shit,” he says and shakes off the image, or tries to anyway. It’s not the kind of shit you can shake off easily.
Dix whistles. “That sounds like some cartel shit. You identify Jordi and Devon or somethin’?”
Doherty says nothing, and Agent Stiles taps her notepad. “Exactly what I was thinking,” she says without answering Dix’s question. “Does your club have any connections to any cartel?”
“No,” Ace answers gruffly. “We’ve never had a reason to get involved with cartel business, so we obviously have no beef with any cartel on either side of the border.”
Stiles nods, but I can tell she doesn’t believe what she hears. “Maybe you can explain this.” Then, without another word, she dramatically drops a pile of photos on the laminate counter. “Go on, look.”
I slip in beside Ace and Dix, needing to see the photos to confirm what I already know to be true. “Shit,” I say as I look into the cold, dead eyes of my friends—former friends now—stripped naked for one final humiliation.