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)
Wes could hardly breathe. He kept his eyes fixed on the blurring bodies on the screen, his cock betraying his rationality.
Law kissed him behind his ear, light and gentle, before he bit down.
“If I get under this table, I’ll make it so you don’t last to the next tape.”
Wes glanced around, then hurriedly unbuckled his belt and pulled his zipper down.
“If you drop under this table, you better make it good.”
Law’s laugh was filthy as he eased onto his knees under the table, slow and sinful like the demon he was.
Wes leaned back, legs spread as far as he could with his jeans at his ankles. His heart was pounding, and Law’s mouth was already moving, fast and greedy.
“I see somebody forgot there are cameras in the review room,” someone said through an intercom.
Wes jumped as Law bumped his head so hard on the table it skidded a few inches.
Multiple sounds of deep laughter came from the other guys, and Wes only hoped God and Day were still out of the office.
His face flamed hotter than the fire he loved. He was flushed with rage and humiliation as he cursed at Law, all while scurrying to pull his pants up.
“You dumbass.”
It was Free, and he was laughing so hard he could barely get the words out. “Finish watching the tapes and knock it off.”
Wes dragged his hand down his face. “I’m gonna kill you when we get back to your place…and still make you finish me off.”
Ramon Vasquez
Vasquez adjusted his shirt collar as he moved through the department bullpen. No one acknowledged him or waved in his direction. Ever since God and Day’s team spread nasty shit about him, he was persona non grata.
At seven in the morning, the precinct reeked of drunkards’ puke from overnight arrests and burnt coffee. But nothing stunk quite like the sight of God’s coveted narcotics division with its expensive tech, entertainment section, and gleaming office furniture.
Through the frosted glass, he saw Steele, the golden boy, Ronowski, Tech, and Free laughing together at whatever they were staring at on Free’s tablet.
I hate that fuckin’ tablet.
Especially the way Free ruled the world with it.
No one should have that kind of power at their fingertips. Most of the shit Free did was illegal, but of course, there was no way for him to prove it.
Vasquez squinted at the two new faces he’d yet to see up close. But he’d caught their names through the grapevine and looked them up.
Apparently, Wesley Drake and Lawson Sheppard were big-time famous on the West Coast with the movie industry, like blockbuster big.
He’d been shocked to learn they’d worked on a lot of the action movies he liked, but he had no clue who was responsible for what in movie production. He never stuck around and scanned the credits at the end. What for?
Now here they were back in their hometown and the entire department was calling them heroes.
“Just what this place needs,” he murmured, his voice laced with disdain.
If Lawson and Wesley had minded their own damn business, God and Day would no longer be a thorn in his ass… They’d be six feet under.
He stomped out of the building as if he were marching on the front lines.
He was so damn tired. He was always tired because the graveyard shift sucked ass.
He’d once had a cushy beat on the day shift and a pretty decent partner, until Hart filed a harassment complaint against him.
The captain hadn’t even been interested in hearing his side before he demoted him, and assigned him to a desk.
Vasquez wanted to go home and collapse on his bed, but instead, he had to go to Pleasant Pastures—another nursing home that couldn’t handle his father’s cantankerousness.
The old bastard had been kicked out of five already for being combative and too aggressive with the staff. Vasquez was getting regular calls about staff harassment, refusal to take medication, and sometimes worse, every other day.
Today, it was a food complaint. His father had cursed out an orderly and tossed his breakfast tray across the room.
He stopped at the Egg Bistro and ordered a country-fried steak platter with all the fixings and a tall hazelnut coffee—his dad’s favorite.
Maybe that would satisfy him. He’d eat it, then agree to take his medicine.
When he arrived, he was met by the always-frustrated charge nurse.
“Mr. Vasquez, this is becoming redundant,” she said by way of greeting. “Your father made a huge mess after he tried to bite the nurse. And he’s refused to let us bathe him or change his linen.”
Fuck.
“I’m really sorry about that. He probably didn’t sleep well, but I brought him some breakfast, and I’ll get him to take his meds, promise.” He gave her his saddest look, hoping for sympathy. “I’m gonna get everything all cleaned up, Ms. Janelle. And, um, I appreciate your patience. You’re really great.”