Total pages in book: 160
Estimated words: 160041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 160041 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 800(@200wpm)___ 640(@250wpm)___ 533(@300wpm)
But if it is true … why the hell was she in Orion’s room?
What was she trying to get out of him?
And what does him eating her out have to do with finding me?
Grinding my teeth, I hop inside my car and start the engine. I’ll find out, one way or another, after I’ve convinced her not to kill me by throwing her a peace offering.
Time to pick up her lunch.
One hour later
I watch until that fucker steps out of his restaurant at the exact time as posted on Sunny’s list. He strolls across the street toward the same parking lot where I’ve parked my car, and I’m waiting behind his car so I can ambush him.
As he approaches, he pulls out a cigarette and pushes it into his mouth.
I raise my gun and wait until he’s in clear line of sight.
He stops walking the second his eyes connect with the barrel.
“Make a sound, and I put a bullet in your brain.”
The cigarette drops from his mouth.
“Open the trunk. Quietly. Don’t let anyone notice you’re under threat.”
His face contorts, but he still steps back twice before pressing the button on the trunk.
“You run, I will kill you,” I warn him, nodding at the trunk. “Now get in.”
He contemplates his choices for a second, eyes skittering about, so I click the safety off.
“Do you want to risk it? There’s no way back from death.”
He swallows.
Finally, he grabs the trunk and slowly sinks inside, and when he’s fully covered, I approach and fish two pairs of cuffs from my pocket. “Put one set on your ankles.”
He does what I say without protest. “What now?”
“Put the others on your wrist.”
I tighten them to make sure he’s not accidentally slipping out.
“Car keys?”
“Left pocket,” he answers.
I rummage in his pocket and fish them out.
“Please don’t kill me,” he begs.
“Then tell me why she wants you dead.”
He frowns. “What? Who?”
“Sunny,” I grit.
“I don’t know who that is.”
I roll my eyes. “Sure you don’t. Have fun.”
I attempt to lower the trunk lid, but he suddenly blurts out, “Okay, okay, I’ll tell you!”
I pause with a raised brow.
“She’s a friend of a friend. I don’t know her personally. I just heard him say her name once or twice.”
I push the gun into his forehead. “Who and what does she want from him?”
“Guy’s name is Mike. I don’t know what their relationship is. I just supply him with drugs.”
“Drugs for what?”
“Surgeries.”
“Where?” I ask.
“I don’t know the location. They’re everywhere. Hidden. It’s the Bones Brotherhood.”
Bones Brotherhood? There it is again.
“I just know Mike does some work on people.”
“What kind of work?” I shove the metal into his forehead so deeply that it bruises him.
“Organs. Bodies. Anything is for sale if the price is right.”
Fuck. He’s talking about trafficking organs and people.
As he opens his mouth again, I slam the trunk lid shut. “I’ve heard enough.”
I drive halfway up the mountain toward Spine Ridge University, stopping at the abandoned house near the side of the road that’s been used by lots of junkies over the years, called The Shack. The run-down, overgrown building, with its broken door and shattered windows, is an eerie sight every time I pass by. It always reminds me of the one time I went to the fair with my family and got lost in the Haunted House because Silas came running after me with a plastic knife.
That dickhead loves to torment his own siblings more than he loves to torment his victims.
I park the car right outside, pull my bag of supplies from the back seat of my own car, then open the trunk.
THWACK!
A foot in my chest knocks me off-balance, and I stumble backward.
“Get the fuck away from me, fucker!” he yells as he tumbles out of the trunk, falling on his ass, before crawling away.
I chase him and catch him halfway across the road. “Too fucking late!”
I fish my knife from my pocket and ram it into his thigh.
He howls in agony, struggling against the metal cuffs around his wrist as blood seeps from his wound. “Fuck!”
I twist the knife, then pull it out of his flesh.
He tries to turn around and hit me with his cuffed fists, so I grasp his face and slam him into the concrete.
“Fuck …” he groans.
“I told you not to fucking make a fuss,” I growl, as I lift his ankles and drag him toward The Shack.
His nails dig into the ground, carving up the soil as I haul him with me. “No!”
“Yes.”
“I don’t deserve to die over some drugs!”
“Then you shouldn’t have angered Sunny,” I reply, pulling him into the house.
The hallway is stained with blood from a previous encounter between Silas and Levi, but I still drag him into the main living room area, or what it’s supposed to be, because all that’s left is a grimy couch and one flimsy, wooden chair.