Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 73302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73302 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 367(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“It’s okay. Let them come,” Rafe said. “Have you ever cried for him before? Did you let yourself grieve at all?”
I shook my head. I hadn’t let myself cry. I’d pushed on past Tommy’s death because I was afraid if I let myself go, I might not get back up. I needed the anger, not the despair. Anger was what motivated me.
But right then, with Rafe’s arms around me, it was okay to let go, at least for a little while.
We were both dozing when Rafe’s phone buzzed. I wanted to tell him to ignore it, but I couldn’t. No matter what else I was starting to want, I did want to end Ivanov, and the message could be from fucking Xavier Carrington—the billionaire philanthropist rumored to be the ruler of a vigilante underground and essentially infallible. We couldn’t ignore him.
“Check it.” I nudged him. He sighed and reached out for his phone.
Instead of telling me what it said, he held it up for me to see. The contact’s name simply said “X” and the message: You were right. Go for it.
As I was reading it, another text popped up. “He sent the address.”
Rafe nodded. “Were we right on that too?”
I grinned. “We were.”
I expected him to jump up and start getting dressed since he’d wanted to go after the man the second we’d learned who he was, but he set the phone down, cupped my face between his hands, and pulled me to him for a kiss.
Then he smiled. “Let’s go kill this fucker.”
I nodded, but I pulled him back one more time for another kiss. It wouldn’t be the last one. It couldn’t. We still had time because getting LeBlanc wouldn’t end things. It would only take us one step closer, and we both wanted that. It needed to happen, but I still didn’t know how I was going to walk away when this was done.
We raced across town in the Corvette as Rafe ignored my insistence on following the rule of not doing crime while doing crime. We did not need to get pulled over for speeding.
“Can’t you just flash your credentials or something?” he asked
“That’s not how undercover assignments work.”
“So they’d arrest you if we get caught?”
I sighed. “Yes. I’d eventually get it sorted, but I can’t identify myself to local law enforcement.”
“Interesting. So feds don’t have it as easy as I thought.”
“Not when the mafia owns the police.”
He smiled and sped up. “Then we just don’t get caught, or I use my connection to get us off.”
I held on to the door and prayed we’d survive his insane driving. Thankfully, our mole didn’t live far away. Rafe drove past the house and then parked around the corner on a side street. Adrenaline had my heart racing when we climbed out of the car and made our approach. We’d decided to knock on the door, then pick the lock if he didn’t answer.
“Ready?” Rafe asked.
I nodded. My hand was on my gun as we climbed the steps of the shotgun house that had recently been remodeled but not modernized to death like so many of the houses close by. This would have been easier if the guy lived in a shit neighborhood, but it was obvious he was well paid for his assistance to Ivanov.
Rafe knocked on the door, and we waited. No response. I tilted my head toward the door, indicating he should knock again. I pulled my gun, ready to take him down if he came to the door armed.
Nothing. Not a sound from the house.
“He’s probably asleep,” Rafe said.
It was bold of him to sleep that hard when he was betraying the Theriots. “Do your magic.”
Rafe picked the lock easily, then pulled out bolt cutters and snipped the chain that barred our entrance. I covered him, my heart pounding. I’d cleared a hell of a lot of buildings, but I hadn’t been this nervous since I was a brand-new agent on my first assignment. At this point, I hardly cared if someone killed me, but I wouldn’t let anyone hurt Rafe, not even a scratch.
Rafe kicked the door open and waited for me to enter first like we’d planned. There was still no sound—not a footstep, not anything. Was LeBlanc gone? Or was he hiding? He couldn’t have slept through us breaking in, could he? The place was nice, but not that big. That was when the smell hit me. Fuck.
I cleared the living room, then indicated to Rafe that I was moving forward. I leaned around the doorway and froze. “Damn.”
Rafe tensed behind me. “Is it him?”
“Yes. He’s the stinking corpse.”
“Fuck.” Rafe moved around me and whistled when he saw LeBlanc. The body was a few days old and had begun to bloat in the warm, humid air coming in through the broken window. I was surprised the neighbors hadn’t smelled it or seen the damage and called the police.