Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
“That’s for your stupidity and joining a gang, instead of being at home doing homework or studying or some shit.”
“But I told you everything I know,” he wailed, tears flowing like a broken faucet.
A third slap snapped Frank’s head sideways as brilliant red humiliation bloomed across his ivory, pimpled skin.
Meridian jerked him close, lowering his voice to a cold hiss, “If you keep playing the devil’s game, Frank…eventually…he’ll want his turn.”
The bar was silent.
“I’m sorry.” Frank cried louder.
Sirens blared in the distance.
“Time to go,” Corvo said.
He shoved the kid away in disgust.
“On your knees.”
Frank sobbed and collapsed to the floor, trembling, clutching his burning cheek.
Meridian leveled his glare on the ones in the room that were still alive.
“Do I have to repeat myself?” he growled.
One by one, every man and woman went down like puppets with cut strings.
Even the bartender vanished behind the counter.
A few lifted their hands in surrender.
Some were mouthing silent prayers.
The hardest-looking thugs—with their tattoos, fake gold teeth, and muscles thick as coiled ropes—were shaking, shoulders jerking, eyes glassed over with fear.
All of them waited, breathless, wondering if they were seconds away from a mass execution.
Meridian casually adjusted the cuffs on his midnight Dior dress shirt as he spoke.
“Stop mistaking your bullshit neighborhood torment for power. What you see now. This is power.”
Mirage backed toward the door first, his light eyes concealed beneath his hood, but never leaving the room. Grace reversed with him, his big body like a moving shield.
Ex followed slowly, slipping through the door as the cold rushed in.
Meridian stepped over broken glass, coagulating blood, and men with life draining from their eyes.
None of it fazed him. It was just another day at the office.
He was almost out of the door when he heard shuffling behind him.
He paused.
“If you stand up, black’ll be the last thing you see.”
No one moved.
Meridian climbed into the backseat of their Navigator idling at the curb and tapped the roof for the driver to peel off.
When they were a few blocks away and clear of the first responders, Meridian lit one of his cigarettes before he spoke again.
“Talk to me.”
Corvo didn’t waste time. “We hacked into the outside security cameras from a corner store across from The Crown Room. Scar went in at twenty forty-seven hours and exited with a group of three at twenty-one-oh-five.”
Eighteen minutes.
Sure didn’t take long for Scar’s so-called family to banish him.
“Traffic cams tracked this Drea’s vehicle to a suburb in Palos Hills. Our data points converged on one house owned by a Jessica Ventura…no gang affiliation. Address has already been uploaded.”
The mission had shifted from a manhunt to a targeted strike.
As their transport headed north, Ex asked, “Any update on the Greens?”
White Ravens
Gage
Gage woke to the smell of coffee and something burning.
For a few disoriented seconds, he thought he was back in the facility—inhaling the stink of scorched metal, and antiseptics—until the scents separated.
Strong coffee was brewing. Eggs with cheese, and fried bacon was being overcooked in a frying pan.
It had to be late morning because the dark behind his eyes was thinner. When the sun was at its peak, the black wasn’t as pressing. Shapes and shadows had a faint but noticeable difference.
He shifted on the couch, wincing when the springs jabbed his hip. When he sat up, the flimsy blanket dropped down his chest and pooled at his waist.
Every muscle in his back complained. Most of it was from the road, but some was from the night before.
Disclosing everything to Roz had left him hollowed and raw.
He blinked…nothing.
Again, hopelessness tried to settle in. He eased off the couch and dropped to his knees.
He pressed his palms together and his voice came out cracked, barely more than breath.
“Our Father…who art in heaven…” The familiar words scraped out of him.
“Thy kingdom come…Thy will be done…” He swallowed hard, chin quivering.
He opened his hands, let them fall to his thighs, and exhaled slowly, anchored for what he wished was more than a fleeting moment.
Gage grunted as he got to his feet. He stretched and popped the kinks in his upper body as his bladder screamed for relief.
He skimmed his fingers along the arm of the couch, counting the steps in his head like he’d done five times already in the middle of the night.
“A few more feet, then a hard right. I left a towel on the sink,” Roz called from the other side of the apartment.
Gage lifted his hand in acknowledgment. The hallway narrowed around him, the slight echo changing as the walls tightened.
He brushed his hand along textured plaster until it hit the cold edge of the bathroom doorframe.
The tile under his bare feet was freezing and a little sticky. He found the toilet, took care of business, then groped for the sink.
His knuckles bumped smooth ceramic—the faucet—on top was a folded towel and a crinkled half-used tube of toothpaste.