Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83167 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
But Mac was Charlotte McAlister, Jet McAlister Chavez’s little sister. Jet was married to Eddie Chavez. Eddie was Lee’s best friend. And Jet worked for Indy, Lee’s wife, the Queen of the Rock Chicks, and thus Jet Chavez was a bona fide Rock Chick.
Mac might not be a card-carrying member of the Rock Chicks, mostly because she had a job where she worked nights, the time those crazy bitches instigated the most fucked-up of their varying antics. Though they weren’t averse to mornings and afternoons. It was just that the stun-gunnings, kidnappings and the like mostly took place at night, and Mac was busy then.
She was still a Rock Chick, or at least she was by association.
Considering the Rock Chick link and the blood ties to Jet, if Lee knew Mac was in danger, he’d tear the town apart to put a stop to it.
And Eddie…
Now Eddie, Smithie didn’t even want to think about it. The man was a cop. The shit Lee and his boys did with flair and a flagrant disregard to just about anything, Eddie could not do.
But Eddie wouldn’t blink at doing whatever he had to do to make his sister-in-law safe.
And the man had mouths to feed.
So yeah.
This was a problem even more than it already was a colossal motherfucking problem because Smithie couldn’t call Lee.
Which meant Smithie had to find a different set of badasses to deal with it.
His first call would normally be the Chaos Motorcycle Club. Mac wasn’t one of theirs, neither was Smithie, but they had ties to Lee, they could keep a secret, and they didn’t dick around when it came to women and their safety.
But they’d just come out of a war, and like any war, that had been some serious fucked-up shit.
They needed a breather.
Lee, and Chaos, also had ties to…
“Well, hell,” Smithie muttered, the words on the letter blurring, the sick feeling in the back of his throat easing.
He dropped the letter and picked up his cell.
If you couldn’t call a badass…
Then it was far from second best to call a commando.
* * * *
“Let me see it.”
Smithie lifted his eyes from his laptop on which he was doing the club’s accounts to the tall, built, black-haired man prowling through the door.
Behind him strode a man that even gave Smithie, who this didn’t happen to often, a tingle of, “Holy fuck, don’t let me meet that guy in an alley.”
“Well, hey there, motherfucker,” Smithie greeted the man in the lead. A man known as Hawk. “And by the way, come on in.”
Hawk Delgado had made it to the front of Smithie’s desk.
He stopped there and held out his hand.
“Smithie, let me see the letter.”
Seeing as the man was wearing a tight black T-shirt over black cargos and black cargo boots, looking like he was about to invade Somalia, and more, could, but he was in an office over a strip club in Denver, Smithie dug the letter out from under a bunch of stuff on his desk and handed it to Hawk.
The hulk behind Hawk edged closer and read over his boss’s shoulder.
While reading it, Hawk’s face only tightened a little.
The face of the man behind him went from scary to Jesus fucking shit.
“I read it to you over the phone,” Smithie reminded him.
He didn’t have to, and Hawk didn’t have to remind Smithie that he was a busy guy, but Smithie had phoned and Elvira, Hawk’s assistant, had picked up. He’d read the letter to her and she hadn’t messed around with getting her boss on the line.
When Hawk heard it, Hawk got un-busy, called Smithie, then Smithie had read the letter to him.
So he’d made even more time to drop on by.
And there he was, tight-faced and clearly taking that letter as seriously as Smithie took it.
He finished reading and looked at Smithie.
“Before this one, you get any more of these?” Hawk asked.
Smithie shook his head. “Though I think one is enough, don’t you?”
He handed the letter over his shoulder to the monster behind him.
“One is enough,” Hawk agreed. “You got the envelope?”
Smithie dug out the envelope the letter came in and handed it over.
Hawk didn’t even look at it. He gave it direct to the man behind him.
Then he asked, “You call the cops?”
“You know who Lottie Mac’s sister is?”
Hawk’s mouth tightened even further.
He also knew how gonzo Eddie Chavez would go if he knew someone had written that letter about Mac. And any cop who read that letter would go straight to Eddie.
“Charlotte McAlister know about that letter?” Hawk asked.
Now Smithie understood Hawk definitely knew who Mac’s sister was. He knew who Mac was. That letter didn’t refer to Mac as anyone but Lottie Mac and “Charlotte McAlister” was not the name Smithie used on the marquee.
“I haven’t shared…” he paused, “yet.”
“She get an escort home?” Hawk kept at him.