Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
The opposite of his Wesley.
Law adjusted the airflow valve then leaned away from the sweet odor of burning benzene.
The pressure held and the vapor maintained its funnel shape, creating a mesmerizing distraction.
Hollywood had turned it down, calling its agents too unpredictable and hazardous.
Idiots.
Now he’d tweaked it into something made for war.
With the trace amounts of chlorine gas added, this fog could swallow a corridor, creep beneath doors, and wrap itself around a person’s lungs. Suffocate them just enough to bring them to their knees.
If God wanted chemical warfare, raids with special effects… If he wanted shock and awe on the faces of drug lords…fine, he and Wes could do it.
Law popped the latch on the rig, refilled the vapor chamber with a smidge more of aldehyde. It’d cause far more eye sting than a flash bang, and the camphor derivative would cause confusion and imbalance.
I hope those measurements are right.
Law shrugged. He had no clue how to test it. He guessed the bad guys would have to be his test subjects.
Damn, he missed his high-tech, customized laboratory he’d designed for his LA penthouse.
Wes used to come over to use it, even when he wasn’t there, and when Law got home, he’d smell him everywhere.
He had all the space he needed for oxidizing alcohols, synthesizing particles, and every kind of measuring device made.
He’d brought a lot of supplies back home with him, but most of his bigger items were in storage in Brentwood.
Law reclined, kicking one boot up on the edge of the table, the other tapping restlessly on the stained linoleum as he stared at his invention.
Wes had been quiet since he’d stormed away from the abandoned lot.
Which meant he was stewing, and probably building something way too hot but somehow still controlled.
That was Wes. Wild, gasoline flowing through his veins, and a mouth that never stopped bitching unless it was wrapped around Law’s cock.
He grunted and rubbed the back of his neck, jaw clenched.
Wes knew just how to drive him insane. Especially when he was mad.
The way he’d reacted at the precinct, the way he’d snapped at him, turned him on. Those green eyes shining like emeralds beneath that epic scowl, chest heaving, shoulders tensed as if he could’ve leapt across that interrogation table and tackled him.
Law would’ve let him.
Would’ve let Wes dig his strong fingers into his hair, yank his head to the side, and bite his neck as if it was punishment before he slammed him into the closest hard surface and kissed him until his anger eased.
Wes’s body, his temper, his love for him, burned hotter than the fire he manipulated.
Law scratched at his stubble, refocusing on the vapor chamber that was pure magic.
He’d finish the prototype tonight and showcase it to God and his team tomorrow.
He’d always been an overachiever, a showoff. On his first day as a consultant for the Atlanta PD, he was going to do just that, and he had no doubt Wes would as well.
And maybe—if fate wasn’t a bastard—he’d get Wes riled up again.
Law chuckled.
No matter how many times Wes stormed off with curses on his lips…he always came back.
Wesley (Wes) Drake
3:24 a.m.
Wes glared at the blinking cursor on his phone.
It didn’t surprise him Law was still awake. He was always restless before a demonstration.
They were too alike, clear down to the bone.
Late nights were their havens. No agents, no fussy directors or annoying phone calls, just them and half-finished devices warm from over-testing.
Law You still mad at me?
Wes stared at the annoying text for several minutes before he couldn’t resist responding.
Wes Yes. Like strangle you with my bare fuckin’ hands mad.
Law Hmmm, not much into erotic asphyxiation, but first time for everything.
Wes You’re a dick. This shit we’re in isn’t a joke. Stop acting like everything is cool because it’s not.
Law It’s always my fault, I know. But you love my trouble…don’t you??? Hating me is your foreplay.
Wes growled and sat up straighter in the twin-sized bed in his childhood room.
Wes Why do you always do this? Why do you downplay your bullshit, piss me off, and then think bending me over will make me okay with it?
Law Because it usually does.
Wes could see Law’s sly grin and dismissive shrug when he typed that response.
Wes Go to hell. I’m going to sleep.
The sun was too damn bright.
Wes put on his sunglasses as he stepped out of his truck. He stared up at the tall precinct building, willing himself to pull his shit together. But the more he watched officers filing in and out, the more his mind screamed don’t go in there.
He wasn’t a kick-down-doors, dodge-bullets, tackle-criminals kind of guy. He wasn’t frail, but he wasn’t packed with muscle either.
His weekly diet consisted of corndogs, hot wings, jalapeño poppers, fries, crab dip, and Dr Pepper. Oh, and the occasional bottle of cream soda.