Total pages in book: 111
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106284 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 531(@200wpm)___ 425(@250wpm)___ 354(@300wpm)
“Cutter, sit the fuck down before you fall. You’re pissing blood everywhere,” Pres snaps.
“What do we do?” Callan asks, staring over at Nicolas, the blood around his head seeping into the cracks of the wood floor.
“No one outside this room knows what’s happened,” Jericho states. “And no one will.”
My heart thunders, adrenaline surging through my system, giving me false energy.
Callan’s gaze flicks to Claire. She’s hugging herself, her torso bare. Taking the fabric from my head, I frown. It’s the pink shirt she was wearing.
“What were you doing in here alone with him?” Jericho asks, startling her.
Her chest heaves. Her lips wobble as she speaks. “I went to help Maggie, but he accosted me in the hallway and asked if there was somewhere he could relax and maybe play poker.” She shrugs. “I thought this place was the best option. He made me stay and play pool with him.”
“How the hell did it escalate to this?” There’s an accusatory tone in his delivery that pales her skin.
“He was grabbing at me, and I was trying to put space between us and knocked the table. He said I was trying to cheat and went crazy, punched me in the face.” She becomes frantic, her hands gesturing wildly. “God knows what would have happened if Cutter hadn’t walked in.”
“This shit doesn’t matter. What matters now is clean up,” Callan interrupts, eyeballing the door.
Pres grasps Claire’s chin, tilting her face to his, smudging the blood under her nose with the pad of his thumb. “I want you to listen to me, okay?” He smiles and nods, hypnotizing her into calming down. Tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, he cups her cheek, and she leans into it, desperate for the comfort. “I need you to go to my office. Don’t stop for anyone, okay?”
“Okay.” She bobs her head.
“When you get there, I want to you lock the door and turn off the camera for this room.”
“Right.” She swipes at her eyes.
“Which room?” he asks.
“The game room,” she confirms.
“Right. There’s a good girl. When I get done here, I’m going to come to my office and clean you up, okay? You’ll stay here with me for a few days.”
“You can trust me, Jericho.” Her eyes dart to me. “I promise, you can trust me.” Fear blazes in her blue eyes. She knows this is a big fucking problem and she’s a witness.
“We know, sweetheart. You’re a good girl,” Pres assures her. Her head continues to bob up and down. “Now, say it back to me: what are you going to do?”
“Go to your office and don’t stop for anyone. Lock the door and switch off the camera for this room.”
“Which room?”
“The game room. Then wait for you to come get me.”
“That’s right.”
“Here,” I tell her, slipping out of my cut and dragging my shirt over my head. Walking to where she’s standing, her body trembling, I place my shirt over her, and she pokes her arms through.
Callan goes to the door, unlocks it, and peers out to check the hallway is clear. Claire brushes her hands through her hair and wipes her eyes and nose again. Swallowing and blowing out a couple calming breaths, she nods, confirming she’s ready.
Shutting the door behind her and relatching the lock, Callan looks grim, frowning at his old man. “What are you going to do about her?”
“What I have to.”
I didn’t just kill the kid. I may have killed Claire too.
“Do we know if he had a cell phone on him when he arrived?” Pres asks, locking eyes with Callan.
Callan digs into his pocket and holds up a small black device. “It’s dead. Diamond said it was when he handed it over.”
That’s good. The chances of no cell signal placing him here just got greater.
“Do we know where Kitty met him?”
“She said a card game.” I let out a sharp exhale.
“Michael said Nicolas got into some trouble with the Redwings and they barely got him back in one piece. They’re planning on dealing with them, giving them a warning about fucking with Nicolas.” Callan’s dark eyes harden.
Pres nods. “So, we use this to our advantage.”
“That’s what I’m thinking,” Callan states, crossing his arms over his chest as he stares down at the kid.
Walking over, Pres kicks Nicolas’s leg. “Kid looks ill.”
“He looks dead,” Callan grunts.
“Don’t be a fucking wise-ass. We need to get him in a bag before he starts leaking fluids all over the floor. That smell doesn’t come out of wood.”
“I’ll get a bag and have Monster take the body to the incinerator.” Callan grimaces.
“What about dumping him on the Redwing turf?” I suggest, leaning my ass against the pool table. My head throbs like a hammering in my skull, and my eyes blur.
Shaking his head, his mouth twisting into a sneer, Pres says, “No, we need to keep this contained. Only we three can know. No Monster—and we can’t dump the body.”