Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90607 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Pat was all man. Every single part of him. A rough, sexy, biker man.
Fuck, what was wrong with her? If her dad knew she had a mega crush on a rough-and-tumble biker, he’d be out of his grave so fast and wagging a finger right at her.
Damn it!
She clenched her hand into a fist.
It had been ten years since he passed away, although it had gotten a little easier to keep moving. To keep breathing. There were moments like this, where she thought about a man she had a crush on, and the fact her dad was not there. If she ever got married, he was never walking her down the aisle. Now that was a reality check.
She missed her dad so damn much. Even though he wouldn’t like that she was into older guys, she would give anything just for him to be wagging his finger in her face right now.
Chapter Three
In the last few days, Pat had scoped out the old farm, keeping an eye out for any sudden activity. He was tempted on that first night to find it empty, to just torch the place. He called Bull, and had the means to do it.
The one thing he could rely on when it came to the cartel was the fact they carried gasoline, and a way to light that shit up. The cartel always had a means of covering their tracks quickly. There was nothing at the old farmhouse.
The guys had done several runs for the cartel over the years. This main house had been where they wanted their drugs stored—coke, heroin, or whatever shit they were brewing up.
Back in the day when Bull’s dad was in charge, some of the men would take the product as their payment. Pat had seen firsthand what that shit could do to you, and he had no interest in falling into a drug addiction. It was why he rarely used any painkiller, and never took anything for sleeping. That shit was lethal. He steered clear of anything with a pharmaceutical label on it. To put it simply, he didn’t trust them for shit.
Some would call him a conspiracy theorist. In the past, people may have died younger, but they didn’t seem to have all the shit wrong with them, that they do now. It’s why he didn’t align with social media either.
He got it, connecting to people. But he actually rode past a bus stop just a few hours ago. There must have been twenty people in that bus stop, and seeing as it was dark, he saw their faces glow as he looked at them. Lit up by their cell phone prisons. He must just be old-fashioned.
Checking out the farmhouse again, he saw something in the distance—a single light came on from the inside. This was one of the reasons he loved doing shit in the dark. It was harder for people to see. He pulled out his binoculars and got the house into focus. He pointed it toward the light, trying to make sense of what or who had put the light on.
Pat had been there during the day, and there was no electricity to the main house. There was no movement. Someone must have been there because the freaking light was on.
He grabbed his cell phone and found Bull’s number. It only took a couple of rings before he answered.
“What’s the update?”
“Has someone else come to check out this farm?” Pat asked. They all had each other’s backs, but that didn’t mean one of them came and left the freaking light on. Knowing Rusty, he did it to mess with him.
“No one has been to the farmhouse. Because you’re scoping it out, no one wanted to mess with your way of doing things.”
There might have been a few black eyes and bloody noses to a couple of the guys who messed with what he was doing.
“If that’s the case, then someone is here, Bull,” Pat said.
With that, he hung up, because he wasn’t going to allow them to get away. Putting his kit to one side, he reached into his pants, pulled out his gun, took off the safety, and started to rush forward.
There were no cameras. Once again, the cartel didn’t like the risk of evidence getting into the wrong hands.
Getting close to the house was a piece of cake. There were no cars. Nothing to show that anyone was there. He got close to a window and looked through the corner. There was no one in clear sight, however, he did see a shadow in the house. He also happened to notice that some of the walls were missing, and there was a mess. Someone was trashing the place.
Pat made his way to the main door, and just as he did, whoever had been in the house came out. He charged at them, shoving them to the ground, and he pulled his weapon, about ready to fire as he took charge. He stopped as William Ranford’s face came into focus.