Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84838 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 424(@200wpm)___ 339(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Shotgun’s brows furrowed with confusion. “No, he’s not here.”
“Oh, God.” I gasped as I brought my hands up to my face. “That means they have him.”
“Who?”
“The men who attacked me! There were so many of them. We couldn’t get away.”
“I’m not following, Remington. I’m going to need you to start from the beginning and tell me exactly what you remember.”
My throat felt like it was closing on me, and my heart was racing a mile a minute. The memories of those men, the hitting and kicking, the threats and confusion, were racing through my mind, and it was hard to put it all into words. I inhaled a deep breath and tried to calm my rattled nerves. “I told you about my friend, Madeline. She’s the one who set me up on a blind date with Thomas.”
I went on to recount everything that happened that night—how we’d been eating dinner and Detective Mathews showed up, and when we left early, eight or nine men had been waiting for us in the parking lot. I started to cry, and my entire body trembled as I told him about Mathews showing up again. “He’s the one who ordered the two men to finish me off and get rid of me.”
“Did he tell them to take you to Stilettos?”
“I don’t know.” Shotgun gave me that look again, the one where he wanted a definitive answer, but I didn’t have one to give him. I wiped the tears from my face as I snapped, “I’m sorry, but I was pretty freaked out. I mean, think about it. I was hurt and confused. I thought I was about to die. I really wasn’t listening to what they were saying at that point.”
“Okay, I get it.”
He ran a hand over his face, then stood as he muttered something under his breath. When he started walking over to the door, I asked, “Wait. You’re leaving?”
“I have things to take care of.” He opened the door, and as he stepped into the hall, he said, “Eat your dinner.”
Before I could respond, he closed the door. It was official: the man they called Shotgun was an asshole. He was cold and heartless. He didn’t give a damn that the memories of that night had taken their toll on me, and I was a crying, blubbering mess. He only cared about getting the answers he needed, so why was I feeling so disappointed that he was gone? Damn. That concussion was worse than I thought.
Shotgun
My day wasn’t going the way I had planned. In fact, it had all gone to fucking hell. First, Remington had asked me to wash her fucking hair. I didn’t do that kind of shit for anybody—ever. What was going through my head when I agreed to do it? That was just it. I wasn’t thinking. I’d let my guard down, and I didn’t like it—not one fucking bit. To make matters worse, Menace had been able to track down Drake and Alfonzo, but they were holed up in some funeral home with too many damn people around for us to get our hands on them. Hell, we’d waited around for over two hours, and they were still in the building.
Even though I was ready to get my hands on the motherfuckers and find out what they knew, we’d decided to hold off and try again later. I was pissed by the whole fucking thing and had ended up taking it all out on Remington. I was too inside my head to think about how hard it might’ve been for her to remember what had happened. I just wanted the facts—plain and simple. Even when I went to Viper and shared everything I’d learned from our conversation, I still didn’t think about it. I was so wound up over what she’d told me and what we’d be doing about it that the thought hadn’t crossed my mind—until I left Viper’s office and headed to my room.
It was well after eleven when I walked by Remington’s room. I was tired and eager to get to my room, but a muffled whimper had me stopping dead in my tracks. I thought I was just hearing things, but when I stepped closer to her door, I heard it again—only much louder this time. My chest tightened after realizing that Remington was crying. Riddled with guilt, I stood at the door for several minutes listening to the gut-wrenching sounds of her sobbing. The demons in my head roared for me to leave her be and go on about my way, but there was something buried deep inside that had me reaching for the doorknob. Before I’d even realized what I was doing, I opened the door and stepped inside. Remington was on the bed with her head buried in a pillow.