Total pages in book: 143
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 141464 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 707(@200wpm)___ 566(@250wpm)___ 472(@300wpm)
Griff’s standing next to a half-finished classic car, with Molly slightly behind him. Like he’s shielding her from us.
The tension’s thick enough to crack a socket wrench on.
Wrath stops short and crosses his arms over his chest, throwing a disappointed scowl at Griff. “Stonewall, don’t you have a fight you’re supposed to be training for?”
Griff’s eyes widen for a second, then he lets out a sharp laugh. “Trust me, this isn’t how I wanted to spend my afternoon.”
I choke on a laugh.
Wrath nods to the old Chevy. “Nice car. Is it yours?”
I side-eye Wrath. We didn’t rush over here to yap about cars, did we?
“It’s Molly’s.” Griff wraps a protective arm around her shoulders. “We were finishing up some work on it when that greasy little weasel over there showed up and pulled a gun on us.”
I peer around Wrath’s big ass and take a few steps back. Tucked up in front of the car, away from the view of anyone outside, a scrawny man’s zip-tied to within an inch of his life, a filthy rag shoved in his mouth.
He doesn’t move or look at us but seems to be breathing.
“What’d he want?” Wrath asks in his get to the point tone.
Griff drops his gaze, wraps his hand around a fist, and works his jaw from side to side. Then he lifts his head and meets Wrath’s stare head on.
“My mom’s got…issues. She moved down to Jersey to start over a few months ago. I haven’t been in contact with her since I got home. She left me some messages looking for money while I was on the show but…” Griff shrugs, clearly uncomfortable sharing all this personal info. “I tried helping her out and taking care of her when she was here. And fuck knows she’s drained a lot of money out of me over the years, but this is the first time someone’s ever showed up to collect from me.”
Remy steps closer to his sister’s side, glances at Griff, and then Wrath. “We don’t know who he works for.”
That’s what I’m here for. I lift the bolt cutters in the air. “He’s got ten chances to give up a name.”
Wrath smirks. “Twenty if you start with his toes.”
“This isn’t my place,” Griff says, holding out his arms in a slow-down gesture.
They go back and forth about where to take the guy while I study the scene in front of me. Molly trembling but trying her hardest to look tough. Griff keeping her close.
The guy on the floor peers up at me, eyes wide. He jerks his shoulder like he’s trying to free himself. His leg’s at a fucked-up angle. Wrists raw and bleeding. Face already bruising.
“You need to go home,” Griff says to Molly, drawing me back to the conversation.
“Not so fast, little girl.” Wrath cocks his head and studies her. “What’d you see today?”
“Leave her out of it,” Remy snaps.
Molly takes a deep breath and flicks an irritated glance at her brother. “I was in it when that guy pointed a gun at me. And even deeper in it when I smashed his leg with the crowbar.”
Molly’s the one who fucked that guy’s leg up? Well, goddamn. “Guess that ruthless streak runs through your blood.” I laugh.
Remy sighs and side-eyes me.
“Griff had him,” Molly continues, clearly wanting to defend her boyfriend’s status as her big, bad protector. “But I already had the crowbar in my hands, and I was afraid he’d try to run.” She lifts her gaze and meets Wrath’s stare without flinching “But if anyone outside of the four of you asks, all I saw was the inside of this garage while Griff and I were working on my car.”
I glance at the tweaker again.
As much as I thoroughly enjoy giving Griff shit, I won’t tolerate someone else fucking with him. He’s like another little brother. Someone I enjoy putting in a headlock from time to time. But if anyone else puts their hands on him, they’re not getting them back.
And threatening Molly—pulling a gun on a teenage girl? Absolutely the fuck not. He signed his death warrant the second he threatened her. How hard he gets to die, though, that’s up to him.
When Wrath seems satisfied Molly won’t breathe a word of any of this—with Remy and Griff knowing damn well they’ll pay the consequences if she does—we send her on her way.
She peels out of the parking lot in Griff’s car, tires squealing, dust billowing behind her, taillights flashing red as they disappear down the road.
I crouch next to our new friend, leveling my eyes with his.
His sweat-slicked face twitches as Wrath leans over and yanks the gag free with a sharp snap.
The guy still won’t look me in the eye, but he starts whining right away, voice cracked and high-pitched.
“Untie me, man. I think he broke my wrist. And my ankle—she shattered it. I’m in pain, man.”