Total pages in book: 188
Estimated words: 182255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 911(@200wpm)___ 729(@250wpm)___ 608(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 182255 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 911(@200wpm)___ 729(@250wpm)___ 608(@300wpm)
Seth feinted hard to the left, diving and rolling, somehow managing to keep the pouch under his arm. The dart whistled past him and clattered harmlessly to the pavement.
Bob’s eyes widened with something that looked like panic. Then he cursed and backed away, fumbling to frantically reload the next dart.
Seth didn’t give the son of a bitch the chance.
He pivoted and barreled into Bob, who stumbled and tried to regain his footing. But Seth was bigger, stronger, twenty-five years younger, and a hell of a lot more pissed off.
In desperation, Bob raised shaking hands and pointed the tranq gun at him. Seth grabbed the gun by the barrel and shoved it back at him, ramming it between Bob’s eyes with a bone-cracking thwack. Bob grunted. Blood spurted from his nose as his head snapped back.
As he stumbled unsteadily, Seth ripped the weapon from his grip. His hands shook as he shoved the half-loaded dart into the chamber and pointed the weapon Bob’s way. The old cop froze, fear flashing across his face.
“Did Gene fucking send you?” Seth snarled.
Bob hesitated, then nodded. He half expected the old-timer to beg or bargain. Seth didn’t have the time or patience for either. Instead, he grabbed Bob’s arm, held him immobile, and pressed the barrel against Bob’s carotid artery.
Then Seth pulled the trigger.
Bob staggered, his hand flying to his neck. Shock widened his eyes. His legs buckled—just as his goddamn phone buzzed.
Quickly the drug worked its way through his system. Before the bastard passed out, Seth held him upright as he patted Bob down and located his phone.
“Passcode,” Seth growled as he held up the device. “Now.”
Bob’s mouth moved, slurred words tumbling out almost unintelligibly. “Four…seven…two…nine. Please—”
“Shut the fuck up.”
Then Bob’s eyes rolled to the back of his head. His knees gave out as his consciousness slipped away.
Seth dropped Bob, not giving two shits when he fell to the asphalt in a head-thumping heap. Then, as he pocketed Bob’s phone, he glanced up reflexively—a cop’s instinct. The wiring had already been cut from the security cameras mounted around the parking lot, their cables dangling loose against the building’s exterior.
Bob had prepared this kill zone. No footage. No witnesses. Clean elimination.
Gene’s orders. Gene’s reach. Gene’s professionalism.
Seth clenched his jaw as he glanced back at Bob, unconscious. Vulnerable.
Fuck that. Bob hadn’t planned to show him any mercy, and if the asshole came to, the first thing he’d do was call Gene. Then everyone at the house—everyone he loved—would die.
As far as Seth saw it, he only had one option, and he wasn’t going to cry for Bob. The fucking bastard had made his choices. And he was about to find out that when you played stupid games, you won stupid prizes.
Without a second thought, he shoved the tranq gun into his waistband, forced Bob face-down against the asphalt, then gripped Bob’s head in both hands twisted—hard. Quick. Controlled. Final.
He was dead.
Seth stepped over him and ran for the SUV, refusing to dwell on the fact that he’d just killed a man he’d known since childhood. No time to process it. No time to feel any certain way. He had to get to the house before Gene got suspicious—if he wasn’t already. Seth’s thirty-minute window was closing fast.
He had to save his family.
And as much as he wished he could, Seth knew he couldn’t do that alone.
First, he had to see who the fuck had texted Bob during their scuffle.
As Seth sprinted to the vehicle and yanked the door open, he threw the tranq gun in the back seat and hauled himself behind the wheel. He settled the pouch on the passenger seat, jammed the key into the ignition, and peeled out of the lot. As he pulled onto the street, he tugged Bob’s phone from his pocket, entered the passcode with trembling fingers, and saw a text from Specter.
A single question mark.
Seth’s gut tightened. Gene wanted confirmation that Bob had offed him, his best friend’s son, the kid he’d known since he was eight years old.
Too bad for Gene that the former cop who turned vigilante, who had left his badge behind years ago, intended to both save his loved ones and kill the motherfucker—no matter what it took.
As he drove, Seth skimmed the message thread between Specter and Bob. Short. Clipped. Professional. No emotion, no detail. Just efficient communication between crooked men with a common criminal purpose.
Cursing, Seth typed a response.
Target down. All secure.
He hit Send without hesitation.
Then he floored it, tires screeching as he rocketed away from the storage facility. Adrenaline spiked through his veins, sharp and electric. His hands shook on the wheel.
Seth forced himself to breathe. Forced himself to focus.
The leather slid across the passenger seat—proof he suspected would take down Gene and his entire organization. Evidence his father had posthumously protected for the past sixteen years.