Total pages in book: 106
Estimated words: 101911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 101911 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 510(@200wpm)___ 408(@250wpm)___ 340(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 37
AXLE
“Meet me out front in five,” Sarah says, a strange look on her face as she walks by me.
“Okay, why?” I ask, but she doesn’t answer before slipping out the back.
Shaking my head, I take a long drag off my drink, then lean back in my chair as I watch the TV from our surveillance on Lathan’s place. Sarah already returned from her solo mission.
Lathan hasn’t appeared even once.
Scratching my jaw, I take in the scene. No cars have been in or out, but the wide doors open often. There’s nothing but cars in there. No loads of drugs stashed in the corner like the last time I was there.
This isn’t where Lathan is. But for some damn reason, he’s trying to make someone think he’s there. He has so many enemies and shady alliances that there’s no telling who he’s setting up.
I glance down, realizing it’s been exactly five minutes, and I walk toward the door. Reflexively, my gaze flicks toward the camera, and I pause.
The neon yellow pole has been moved. Why? Because that pole stays in the only blind spot on the camera. It’s bright yellow, so that it’s noticed if it’s ever moved.
Just the tip of the pole is in view of the camera where someone smooth thought they’d be smarter.
Fucking Sarah.
She’d better not let whoever this fucker is kill me.
Or even shoot at me, for that matter.
Obviously, she saw the pole first.
Cursing, I reach behind the bar and grab the trash, giving myself an excuse to go out. Plus, a bagful of mostly bottles doubles as a weapon, if necessary.
“What’s going on?” Dash asks, eyebrows arched.
I never take out the trash. That’s for prospects.
I gesture for him to hang back, and he mutters a curse before drawing his gun and moving out of sight from the door.
As I toss the bag over my shoulder and shove through the door, I force myself not to look around.
The barrel of a gun is quickly jammed into the back of my head, and I consider killing Sarah with my bare hands just as soon as I survive this.
“Six days ago, Maya Black left this club in tears,” a man says, confusing the hell out of me and stiffening my spine at the same time. “She never said why. She wouldn’t talk about it at all. I let it go, because she was safe and didn’t seem hurt in any way.”
The gun digs a little deeper into the back of my skull, and I resist the urge to fight out of this before he tells me what the hell he’s saying about Maya.
“Two days ago, she was skating in her personal, private, and very secure rink. Suddenly she’s missing, and the only thing I can figure out is this club had something to do with it,” he bites out.
My stomach lurches, and I spin hard and fast, grabbing his wrist and turning the gun on him before he can adjust. He stumbles back, about to reach for a second gun, when Sarah is suddenly there, a gun to the back of his head.
He closes his eyes before blowing out a breath, and I take in the fact he’s a beast of a man. A man who looks like he hasn’t slept in too long.
“Sorry, Smitty. Don’t go shooting Maya’s boyfriend, or she might just cut you a new asshole,” Sarah says, sounding overly enthusiastic. “And since I kind of want to get my boyfriend back, I can’t allow any of his friends to go dying.”
Her attention is solely focused on the side of his face as she walks around him, her gun inches from his skull—which is how you should hold a gun on someone instead of pressed against the skin.
But this guy is Smitty, apparently. And he’s old school.
He glares daggers at Sarah until she comes completely into focus. Then he pales.
Sarah leans sideways and stage-whispers, “Think he just realized who I am.”
Smitty swallows, and his face is a stone mask again. “You know who I am, and you know I don’t travel alone,” he tells her.
“You know who I am, and I would have noticed an entire horde of you in a city where I’m watching everything going on,” she says.
“Both of you shut the fuck up unless you’re talking about what the hell you meant about Maya missing,” I say, lifting his own gun toward him.
He narrows his eyes at me. “I haven’t slept since she went missing. My wife was talking to her one minute, and she said John had eyes on her. She went to her car and returned, only to find them both missing. She immediately called me, because Maya wouldn’t leave when she expected her back. My wife worries often for Maya, but I take each call seriously.”
“Cut the fucking story in half and tell me who took her,” I growl, moving closer.