Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 124836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 624(@200wpm)___ 499(@250wpm)___ 416(@300wpm)
“I can answer your questions after introductions,” Moni scowled, “and after you’ve seen the house—”
“Chloe, TT, and I are not going in any house until we’ve gotten answers.”
Moni blinked. “Excuse me?”
Chloe looked at the ground.
TT squeezed Snuggles.
Moni placed her hands on her hips. “Guys. . .what’s going on?”
Jo put her view back on me. “Who killed our father?”
Moni made an uneasy sound on my side; the sort of sound that said she lost all her words and was very fucking close to passing out.
So. . .they know that he’s dead. . .
Chapter nineteen
An Unexpected Arrival
Lei
I walked further away from Moni and her sisters.
Chen followed.
What the hell could Dima be coming here for?
A cold wave crashed over me.
Why today? Why now?
My mind raced with thoughts of anger and suspicion.
Tension built in my chest.
In our world, every move had a motive, every action a consequence. Nothing was ever simple, especially not when it came to the Diamond Syndicate.
What’s your plan Marcelo? Do you think Dima can save you from me? Dima couldn’t even save Chanel’s husband from me.
The memory of killing Chanel’s husband was seared into my mind, a twisted blend of rage, satisfaction, and the lingering scent of blood.
A biker gang called the Coffin Cheaters had battled in the West against the Killer Crows for years. The Jones didn’t want the Syndicate stepping in, for some sort of territory-pride bullshit reason.
Blood spilled.
Lives were lost.
To finally keep the peace, they married Chanel off to Pedro, the Coffin Cheaters so-called leader.
It was a sick joke, really. A desperate attempt at unity and a thorough fuck you to my love for her.
The moment they wedded, I decided that Pedro would be living on borrowed time. I didn’t know when I would kill him, just that I would eventually.
The man was filth. He never respected Chanel, never honored what the marriage was supposed to represent.
On the night that I killed him, Chanel had been mourning her brother, Romeo. Pedro should’ve been there for her, but instead, he was in some shitty hotel, screwing two chicks like the piece of trash he was.
When I got word of it, my blood boiled.
I remember the neon sign flickering when I walked up, Chen, Duck, and Hu followed close behind.
The door to Pedro’s hotel room wasn’t locked.
Cocky bastard didn’t think anyone would dare come after him.
And I didn’t hesitate. I kicked the door open with a force that rattled the walls and there he was—Pedro, half-naked and grinning like the scum he was, surrounded by cheap liquor and cheaper women.
Yet, the moment our eyes met I saw the fear rip through his bravado.
He knew.
I didn’t give him time to react. I stormed in, grabbing one of the women by the arm and flinging her to Duck. He carried her away.
The other woman tried to scream, but Hu was on her before she could make a sound, taking her out the door with cold efficiency.
Pedro started to get up, but I was on him before he could even think about defending himself.
I slammed him back down onto the bed. Next, my fist connected to his jaw with a sickening crunch.
Blood sprayed from his mouth, painting the dingy brown sheets red.
And I didn’t stop.
I couldn’t.
I hit him again and again, each punch driven by the anger that had been building for years.
The betrayal.
The disrespect.
The way he treated Chanel like she was nothing.
His face was a mess of blood and broken bones, his eyes were wide with terror, but I didn’t stop.
“Get up, you fucking coward,” I snarled, grabbing him by the throat and dragging him off the bed.
Pedro tried to speak, to beg, but I didn’t care.
I threw him to the ground and my boot connected with his ribs with a force that made him wheeze.
Blood bubbled up from his mouth.
Pedro tried to crawl away and his hands slipped in the blood pooling on the floor, but there was no escape.
I kicked him again, feeling the satisfying crunch as his ribs gave way under the pressure.
He coughed, choking on his own blood.
“You think you can treat Chanel like this?” I hissed. “You think you can disrespect her and live?”
He tried to say something, but it came out as a gurgle.
Blood spilled from his lips.
I kicked him again, harder this time, aiming for his chest. I felt the bone give way, the sickening sound of his sternum caving in under the force of my boot.
And this twisted victorious sensation hummed through me.
He gasped, a wet, choking sound, his body convulsing as his heart struggled to keep beating.
And I stood over him and watched the life drain from his eyes with no pity in my heart.
No guilt.
No sense of humanity.
My breaths came out in ragged gasps.
The stench of blood and sweat filled the room.
His body twitched one last time before going still and then finally his eyes stared blankly up at the ceiling.