Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109245 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 546(@200wpm)___ 437(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
The enforcer collapsed in a rough heap, face twisted, body doubled over.
The last one hesitated…but not quick enough, his left boot coming down on one of the beads.
Gage pivoted in response, and slammed the steel bar into the bastard’s midsection, folding him over like a raggedy card table, before he shoved the electric baton against the side of his neck.
The current stole his breath, shorted out his muscles, and dropped him to the floor in a twitching heap.
Gage straightened his coat, relaxed and unbothered, as silence swallowed the room.
Scar gaped like everyone else. How had he underestimated him.
Gage was fiercer than a killer, because he left men breathing with bloodied, broken bodies and a brand-new kind of fear.
Pride warmed his insides.
He was watching the warrior angel—his partner—in real time.
He’d been so transfixed he hadn’t noticed the cold press of steel against the back of his head.
“Drop that shit, or he dies now!” A man barked at Gage.
Scar didn’t know who it was, it didn’t matter, as the pounding in his chest increased tenfold.
Gage froze a split second, before he jerked fast to the left.
An arrow whistled past his shoulder and over Scar’s head, close enough to make the hairs on his forearms rise.
He cringed at the sound of instant death the man behind him made before the pressure from the gun’s muzzle was gone.
He glanced in shock over his shoulder at the wicked black-and-green arrow protruding from the man’s throat.
The king started yelling, his voice cracking. “Get him! Get him!”
Nobody moved.
The room had watched five enforcers fall at the hands of one man, a gunman killed by an invisible crossbow, all while Gage stood there unaffected as if his name was Consequence.
Gage collapsed the long cane back into its compact form as he walked past the unconscious and writhing men at his feet with eerie composure.
“I never wished for anyone to get hurt,” Gage said in a level voice. “But my warning was clear. Do not make me ask again for what I came for.”
His electric baton buzzed with an obvious increase in voltage, the sound making the ones left standing shrink away.
Hands fumbled behind him as someone started ripping at the duct tape around his wrists.
“Which one of you is in charge?” Gage called out.
The piece of shit—unworthy of the king title—stepped forward, arms held out wide at his sides.
“Yeah, I’m the fuckin’ king!” he barked. “And you’re interfering in family business. Scar belongs to South Side.”
Gage shook his head slowly.
“You are wrong on both counts.”
Gage snapped his cane out again with a sharp click making the King flinch like the bitch he was.
“First, you are not Scar’s family, and you never were.”
A long, steel blade slid free along the bottom quarter of the cane’s shaft.
“And second…he belongs to me.”
“Who the fuck are you?” the king asked.
Gage smirked.
“A saint.”
He moved so fast Scar thought his eyes lied about it.
A silver blur cut the air, as Gage spun in a tight circle, the whispering slice almost too fast and clean to see until the blood splattered across the dingy wood. The severed arm hit the floor with a dull, wet thud, the fingers still twitching.
The king looked down in disbelief, shock freezing his face, and swallowing his scream as crimson spread across his crisp white T-shirt.
Gage’s composure remained steady, cold and calculated as he retracted the blade into the cane with a snap that sounded almost polite.
The king dropped to his knees, staring at the bloodied stump as though his brain couldn’t translate what’d happened.
Gage squatted beside him, his relaxed resolve terrifying.
“Consider this one amputation a mercy,” he said quietly, “Because if you ever touch what’s mine again, I will take the other arm and both legs, dismantling you piece by piece until you’re nothing but a hard lesson learned.”
Scar’s hands and feet were cut free.
He surged up, his shoulder howling in pain, as he followed Gage out of the hole in the front of the club and into the armored Hummer where the Greens waited in the third row, both hooded and quiet as predators.
The driver pressed on the accelerator and said through the comms, “Whites secured and inbound.”
Gage tossed his gear to the floor, then his hands were on Scar, checking him with fast, probing touches.
Scar just stared, transfixed.
Gage had saved him. And in the most spectacular way.
“I’m okay,” he said, trying to make it sound like the truth.
Gage didn’t stop touching. “Your gait is slightly off, and…”
He palpitated Scar’s shoulder and a sharp grunt escaped him before he could stop it, making Gage go still.
“Your shoulder is dislocated,” he gritted, then spoke through his own comms. “Roz, tell medical to be ready.”
“Bullshit,” he muttered. “Just pop it in, I’m going to my quarters.”
“You’re going to get checked out. Period.”
Scar smiled despite the pain. “I like this side of you. It’s turning me on.”