Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
To a meet up with his children.
Yeah.
There was no fucking way I was going the safe route from far away.
This shit had to be up close and personal.
I tucked my gun into my holster, then made my way out of the woods as he moved further away from me.
Simon wasn’t what I’d been expecting.
I remember Lana saying that there hadn’t been sparks, but she hadn’t gone into a ton of detail about what he looked like. Soft-chinned, soft-jawed, on the shorter side. His suit looked expensive, but his shoulders sloped, making it seem like it wasn’t tailored right, so it sagged in that area.
I doubted he was any good with that gun.
But the goal was to get it out of his hand without touching it. I wanted prints on it. But only his. It would reinforce the idea that he was meeting with someone, that whatever the meeting was about, was shady.
Why else would a successful businessman need to bring a gun to a park?
I followed, footsteps silent on the thick, well-maintained grass, and got close enough to watch as his fingers relaxed on the handle of the gun.
“Stupid bitch,” he murmured to himself. “Where the fuck are you?”
“Looking for me?” I called, watching his body jolt even as I kicked out, hitting his hand, sending the gun flying as he whirled around.
“Who the fuck are you?” he asked, eyeing me up, not overly concerned about getting his gun. Or even worried about my presence.
Guys who lived cushy lives—especially bullies like this fuck—didn’t often feel the need to be afraid when someone random approached them in a park.
“No. I’m looking for a woman. Tall. Brown hair. A little chubby. With a kid or a few kids.”
Oh, this fuck.
Gone was that rational, methodical thought process that had settled in while waiting in the woods.
Back was all the fury.
“She’s not coming,” I told him, watching as he worked through that in his head, his gaze moving over me.
“Should have known she’d slut herself out to some piece of shit,” he said, shaking his head. “She always was trash.”
Yeah, that was more than enough.
I fucking flew at him.
In that moment, I couldn’t even tell you what I was doing. Just swinging. Just causing maximum amount of damage without killing him. Because I wanted him to suffer. I wanted him to know the pain and fear that he’d caused Lana for years, then Isaac once as well.
All I could tell you was my hands were covered in blood—his—by the time he was still on the ground.
It was done.
There was only so much damage you could do before all you were doing was risking leaving a lot of your own DNA on someone. Though I went ahead and landed a hard kick to his midsection for good measure before pulling out my gun, complete with a silencer because the guys at the club were thinking more clearly than I was, and put an end to this miserable fucking excuse for a man.
I was just tucking the gun away when I heard it.
A slow, methodical type of clapping.
My heart shot upward as I looked over, seeing someone walking out of the woods.
“Ay, man, that was a good show,” he said in that kind of slow cadence he always had when he spoke.
A.
Andres Alcazar.
My cousin Hope’s man.
And, you know, the biggest drug dealer in the area.
“Jesus Christ, A,” I hissed, looking around.
“Nah, don’t worry. Ain’t no one else around. This park’s always dead. It’s why we walk here,” he said, nodding his head toward the two dogs he had with him. “So, what’d he do? Couldn’t hear the conversation before the beat-down. And I was tryin’,” he added with that trademark smirk of his.
“This is my girl’s abusive ex,” I said, waving down at him. “He found her and beat the shit out of her today.”
“Yeah?” A asked, coming closer, looking down at him. “Got what was coming to him then,” he said, shrugging. “Sit,” he said to the dogs, who immediately complied as he moved closer, taking a look at the crime scene as a third-party observer. “Aight,” he said, reaching into his pocket and pulling out a roll of dog potty bags, pulling one off the roll, then going over toward Simon’s forgotten gun, moving it closer to the body. “Assuming you covered your ass on the meeting?” he asked, looking around.
“Burner phone. Suspicious message about a meeting here. Nothing tying back to me or my girl.”
“Aight,” he said again, reaching into another pocket and pulling out a little clear baggy with a pinch of white powder in the bottom.
Heroin.
“This’ll help that story,” he said, carefully tucking the baggie into Simon’s pocket. “Hear some rain is coming through soon,” he added as he backed up, grabbing his dogs’ leashes again, and glancing up at the sky. “Figure any pertinent evidence might just wash right away,” he added, then turned and in complete fucking A fashion, walked off like he hadn’t just helped cover up a crime.