Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132498 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 662(@200wpm)___ 530(@250wpm)___ 442(@300wpm)
I turn to look at him. “First off, spit out your gum.”
Rafe laughs before spitting it out. “Tough crowd.”
“You take the side door,” I point to it for emphasis. “And stay quiet.”
“And you?”
A smile spreads across my face. “I’ll knock.”
“God, I love when you knock.”
I step off the curb before he can say anything else.
As I approach the door my pulse is steady. This part never rattles me. It’s simple…either they die right away, or I let them live long enough to talk.
Not much to worry about.
Since obviously, I’m not going to knock, I make my way to the door, and very quietly pick the lock.
Rafe is already inside and has me covered just in case we get any unexpected guests.
I take the steps slowly, making sure that the floorboards don’t squeak as I approach the door to the office in the back.
Then without any preamble, I kick it open. Patrick Murphey is sitting behind a table, his eyes wide, cash still in his hands.
He doesn’t even get a full breath in before I cross the room and slam him face-first into the table.
His nose breaks with a soft crunch.
The sound is glorious.
Blood spills down his face.
One asshole sitting across the room rushes toward me, swinging wildly.
I duck. Then he’s back, lunging at me. I grab him throwing him to the floor and kicking him in the rib.
Behind me, I hear footsteps and then another set.
Fuck.
There were more men than I expected.
I turn over my shoulder and see that Rafe has the other guy handled.
But the distraction is enough that the asshole on the ground, has time to reach for his weapon.
He’s fast, I’ll give him that. Because next thing I know, a silver blade is swiping out as I pivot to avoid it.
The blade slices before I can fully turn.
Heat rips along my side.
Sharp. Immediate.
I hiss through my teeth as the knife drags just beneath my ribs, shallow but enough to bite.
I grab his wrist, pushing him back to the floor, and then with a smile on my face, I break it.
He screams out in pain as the knife clatters to the floor.
I don’t give him time to process the pain. I grab his collar and slam his head into the wall once. Twice. Three times. By the third, he goes limp.
Behind me, there’s a crash and a grunt. Rafe is obviously having fun.
Rafe drags the one guy by his collar, across the floor to where I’ve laid out the other one. Then I walk back to the broken nose fool at the table.
I smile at him.
“Hi,” I say, as I move to zip tie his hands. Rafe works on securing the other idiots.
Now that they are secure, I remember the pain at my side. I press my palm against my ribs, my hand touching moisture. I wince as I pull my hand away.
“How bad?” Rafe asks.
“It’s nothing.”
He takes a step closer. “It’s bleeding through your shirt.”
I glance down. The fabric is darkening. Fuck. I look around the room to see if there is anything I can use to stop the bleeding. It’s not deep but still hurts like a bitch.
“Put him in the car,” I point with my free hand to the guy at the table.
We load him into the back of the SUV and head off to the warehouse.
Luckily there’s no traffic at this time of night, so we make it back in record time, and once inside we tie him to a metal chair that’s bolted to the floor. Then we duct tape his ankles to the chair.
Now that he’s settled, I lift my shirt up and off my body. The fabric pulls away from the cut slowly, and as the wound comes into focus, Rafe whistles.
He shakes his head. “That’s uglier than I thought.”
I shrug. “It’s shallow.”
I look down to see what he sees. The cut is a shallow slice sits alongside my ribs, and while it may be bleeding and inflamed, it’s not enough to kill.
From beside me, I see Rafe grabbing the medical kit we keep in the warehouse.
“This is why you shouldn’t play with knives,” Rafe says as he hands me a bottle of whisky he also grabbed. “Drink this.”
I take a swig. “What are you waiting for, stitch me up,”
He cleans the wound fast and then he’s threading a needle. Once he’s done, he moves in closer to my side. “Hold still.”
I do as he says, and he pushes the needle through skin.
Pain radiates along my side, but I grin and bear it, inhaling slowly through my nose.
Looking down the stitches aren’t pretty at all. It’s almost like he’s trying to be a dick. Wouldn’t put it past Rafe to want to give me the ugliest scar ever.
I incline my head down toward where he’s working. “Think you can try a little harder to keep it even? It looks like a two-year-old stitched me.”