Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69026 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Of course, there would be a second Moran to deal with.
My guess, Special Agent Moran was former Kilgore Police Department Officer Moran’s father.
“Sure, everyone’s does,” he countered and I heard something crunch.
I didn’t have to look over to know that it was my brand-new phone.
“Oh, whoopsie,” I heard Moran say.
This bitch.
“Well take me in, then, so I can call my lawyer,” I said.
I could feel my face aching from where they’d practically ground it into the concrete.
No doubt I’d have a bruise and some scratches tomorrow.
“Lawyer, right…” FBI douche number two snorted. “We’ll get you to the station and we’ll figure out the rest from there.”
Meaning, I’d be sitting there for a really long time.
Nice.
The final straw was watching them “accidentally” knocking over my bike and causing the cookies to spill out all over the ground.
Mother. Fucker.
My mouth did, however, twitch up into a smile when I heard bikes coming.
Apollo was the one to manage the security on my shop—as well as multiple other Truth Teller-owned businesses—he’d probably known within two minutes that something was going on at my place out of character.
“Oh, shit,” I heard one of them grumble. “Shane, call it in.”
Shane was actually douche number three.
He had his phone out and he was calling in backup within seconds.
Except my guys weren’t stupid.
Even though they could overwhelm these four imbeciles, they didn’t.
They chose to pull up to the side of my shop and watch.
Cakes, Cutter, and Copper.
All three of them stayed on their bikes, but watched as the FBI agents shoved me into the vehicle.
I felt the hot drip of blood run down the length of my cheek and growled out in frustration. “Call Malone.”
I should’ve also said “call Silver and tell her what happened” but I was roughly shoved into the back seat of the cruiser and the door slammed shut before I could.
I watched as the three FBI agents pointed at the angry bikers that I called friends, likely telling them that they needed to leave.
Except for none of them moved, their intentions clear.
They weren’t leaving, no matter what the agents said.
I also saw the bitch Moran standing up by the open bay doors and had a feeling that I needed to get one of them to close the doors.
With no other choice, I knocked on the glass with my forehead, smearing blood and sweat on the glass, catching my friends’ attention.
When I had it, I flicked my chin toward the bay door that was swinging in the wind, and Cakes got off his bike in understanding.
He walked up to Moran and said something to her that caused her to narrow her eyes.
She stubbornly refused to move, though.
Cakes decided that it might be worth it to bump her out of the way with the door and went ahead and started closing the large bay door despite her being in the way.
Moran refused to move until the door hit her straight in the face—though the swinging of the door with more force was due to the wind catching it and not Cakes pushing it.
That door was dangerous.
I refused to let Eedie or my mom close it because it liked to walk out of your hands and fuck you up when you least expected it.
This time, I was happy that it had a mind of its own.
Moran stumbled back out of the way just far enough to allow Cakes to close the door.
He had the lock on the door as well as my cell phone picked up before she could stand up straight, blood pouring down her nose.
FBI agent number one and agent Shane got into the car and exchanged a look.
“This is a complete cluster…” Shane muttered under his breath so quietly that I could barely pick it up.
FBI agent number two, however, had a much deeper voice, allowing me to hear what they were whispering about.
“Complete and total fucking clusterfuck,” number two said. “Can’t believe she got her dad involved, and Moran fucking went with it.”
Ahh, so that made a little bit more sense.
“He wrote that kid off a long time ago,” Shane mumbled. “This doesn’t make any sense.”
“It does if you want to get a name for yourself taking down a motorcycle club president,” I murmured, letting them know I could hear everything they were saying.
Both men’s mouths snapped shut so fast that it was comical.
“And Moran’s been let go from the Kilgore Police Department. Everything that she’s doing is just digging her hole deeper,” I mused. “You would be wise to not involve yourselves.”
Neither man said another word.
However, they did look uncomfortable as they took me to the FBI field offices in Dallas.
Though, that might’ve also been the growing motorcycle escort that they were getting.
By the time we got to the office, we had over fifteen bikers on our tail, and the boys in front were looking a little green.