Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Nox sighs, running a hand down his face, suddenly aging ten years, but it’s Quaid who fills me in, a sly grin on his face. “According to Interpol, you’re dead.”
“Yeah, and?”
Casper grins. “According to the US government, you’re very much alive, Mr. Falco, with a residential address in Nevada.”
Nox tries to shut him down with a, “Cas, you don’t know what you’re talking about,” but Quaid goes on. “Only thing is, you’re apparently a sixty-one-year-old man.”
“Cas,” Nox grinds out, catching both our attention. His glare firmly set on his friend, he growls out a slow, “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He pauses a second before adding, “Stop.”
My voice scathing, I peer out to my friend and blink. “You keeping shit from me, brother?”
The look that crosses Nox’s face, accompanied by the earnest sincerity of his response, tells me he isn’t. “Never, brother.” Nothing but honesty. “Never.”
My racing heart slows knowing Nox would never betray me.
He wouldn’t dare.
I’d hate to kill his woman. I like Lily, but Nox isn’t stupid. Liking a person has nothing to do with causing the death of said person, and Nox… he knows I’d do it. That’s the price you pay for duplicity.
We exchange a look of understanding before Nox turns to Quaid and mutters, “Take care of my boy,” then jerks his chin toward me, and says quietly, “Get your hood up.”
I listen to my friend and reach back with both hands, gripping the cold material of my hood, slowly pulling it over my eyes, leaving only my nose and mouth visible. I take a long, slow breath before letting it out slowly through my nose.
Nox jerks his chin toward me then turns to leave.
My hand darts out, and I grip his forearm tight. He turns, a look of confusion creasing his eyes. I speak low, only for his ears. “Owe you.”
It takes everything I have in me to not scowl when I say it.
I fucking hate being indebted to a person.
Nox, knowing me well, predicts my internal struggle and shakes his head. “Let my woman cook for you, listened to my girls read, taught my boy how to pick a lock.” His brows rise, and he grins at that last one. “Not too sure Lily will be overly thrilled about that one”—his smile softens—“but no marker. We’re good.” He steps forward, his hand gripping the back of my neck, squeezing affectionately. “Watch your temper.” He shakes me by the scruff of my neck, then whispers, “Take care of business, man.”
I’d rather die than admit it, but I’ll miss the asshole.
Watching Nox leave, I turn to Quaid, watching, waiting for the change of character, waiting for him to kick the shit out of me and cuff me.
But it never comes.
Instead, he opens the front passenger door and waves a hand toward it. “Your chariot awaits, princess.”
Motherfucker.
With a silent glower, I get in the white guy sedan.
The short, stout police chief is waiting for us out front with a single uniformed officer. Quaid parks in front of the station, but when I think he’s going to move to exit, he spares a nod for fatty police chief before speaking low.
“I’m going to get out of the car, make my way around to your side, and then you’re going to step out. I’m going to take you by your arm, lead you in.”
My eyes slice over him in a tight glare.
He turns to me, catching my scornful stare and shrugs. “Best I can do with no cuffs.”
“I’m not running, man,” I say quietly. “Don’t fucking touch me.”
Quaid nods in acknowledgment. “Know you’re not running, Twitch, but I got a job to get back to.” He lets out a short sigh. “Help me out.”
My hackles rise. “I don’t know you.” My shoulders tense. “Don’t owe you shit.”
“No, you don’t,” he admits. “But if this works out…” he pauses a moment before adding calmly, “I’ll owe you.”
He gets my attention.
Having a cop owe a criminal is nothing to sneeze at. Sure, I’m aiming to get out of the life, but I still have shit to take care of.
I let him stew for a minute then, in perfect calm, mutter, “I’m ready.”
My eyes close of their own accord as Quaid steps out of the vehicle and moves around to the passenger side. He opens the door and, without hesitation, I readjust the hood covering my head and step out. The feel of his hand gripping my forearm pulls a knee-jerk reaction from me.
Much like a rabid dog, I snarl.
His grip loosens slightly, but I still don’t like it. I want to throw him to the ground and kick the shit out of Detective Quaid in front of his boss. And laugh while doing it.
The fact that I haven’t done that reminds me this is all a chink in a long chain of events to come, and that I’m a changed man, no longer selfishly thinking of myself.