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)
“And then?” Michaels asked, snapping his fingers as if he wanted Wes to hurry up and get to the good part.
“When we hit LA, things changed,” he muttered. “We were a duo and in high demand, but over time, we became competitive and shit got messy. Law became more and more reckless. I mean, we weren’t kids anymore. Movie sets have insurance liabilities, protection clauses, and Law was always pushing the envelope and dragging me into his crazy shit.”
“Ahh, I can see that,” Michaels said. “The dynamic between the two of you in that interrogation room was crazy.”
Wes slammed his lighter shut. “And this latest task force thing is the last straw. I’m gonna get away from his crazy ass one day.”
Ruxs snorted. “Sure, man.”
Green went and sat on Ruxs’s lap.
Um.
“We said that too. Back in the day, this idiot used to get us into so much trouble on our beat that we had permanent ass prints on a bench in the IA office.”
Wes looked back and forth between them.
“God found and recruited us, all while he kept getting me in trouble.” Green kissed Ruxs on his forehead. “Now we share a mortgage and have an adopted son.”
“You guys are parents?”
“Yep.” Green nodded proudly with his arm around Ruxs’s neck. “He lives in DC. His partner is God’s younger brother.”
“You guys really keep it all in the family, huh?” Wes said.
Ruxs and Green. God and Day. Tech and Steele. Free and the SWAT captain. God’s brother and Ruxs and Green’s son, and those were just the ones he knew about.
They could keep their twisted family. He and Law weren’t joining it. He refused.
Wesley (Wes) Drake
Wes wasn’t sure what he’d expected when Ruxs and Green invited him and Law out for “a few beers” at a pub near the precinct, but this sure as shit wasn’t it.
The packed bar smelled like beer, smoke, and frying grease. It was buzzing with too-loud conversations, pool balls clanking, and classic rock blaring from overhead speakers.
Almost a dozen flat screens were mounted on the walls, each showing a different sport.
The team had four tables pulled together, each littered with garlic parmesan wings, fried pickles, sliders, and countless empty beer bottles.
Ruxs and Green were working on their second pitcher of dark ale and demolishing a plate of chili cheese fries.
Ro had his feet kicked up on an empty chair, nursing a half-full glass of whiskey. Free sipped on something bright blue, with fruit, through a neon straw. Tech was beside him, reclining against Steele’s chest, dressed to the nines in a fitted vest and plum bow tie.
Law was practically howling with laughter at Ro’s story while Wes tried not to puke up his jalapeño poppers from the nerves still swarming in his gut from today’s raid prep.
“So there we are, Artist and his men had us trapped like rats,” Ro said, gesturing with his glass. “I’m hit in the shoulder, Syn is out of ammo, Day’s hollering for God to save us, and I’m ninety-eight percent sure the run-down house we’re hiding in is about to collapse on us at any minute.”
Law leaned in, looking completely enamored. “And then what?”
Ro grinned and slammed the glass down. “Then, we hear this goddamn roar coming down the road. I thought it was a damn freight train.”
Green cracked a wide smile and Ruxs was already laughing.
“These reckless motherfuckers come barreling around the corner like a bat outta hell—not in our SUVs, with lights and sirens—they’re in a fuckin’ city garbage truck!” Ro raised a hand. “Swear on my mother’s pot roast, Green rammed it into all six of Artist’s Escalades, demolishing them like they were fuckin’ LEGOs. Took ’em all out.”
Law almost spat his beer across the table. “A garbage truck? How’d you get it?”
“Stole it out of the city’s repair lot. It had most of the steering wheel and smelled like a corpse was in the passenger seat, but she roared like a demon.”
“Green jumped out of the driver seat—truck’s still rolling—and climbed on top of it, Ruxs was in the back bucket, both of ’em firing their M4s, brass shells flying everywhere,” Ro added. “Law, I swear it’s a fuckin movie that needs to be pitched to Hollywood.”
Wes tried to laugh along, but now his stomach was convulsing.
“Definitely,” Law agreed.
“You okay, man?” Free leaned over and bumped Wes’s shoulder.
Wes smiled tight. “Yeah. Just…um, impressed.”
Impressed I haven’t shit myself yet.
Across the room, God, Day, Syn, and Hart were playing darts, holding beers, chilling as if they had the easiest jobs in the world.
Hart threw a near bullseye without breaking eye contact with Syn.
The bar’s door swung open and every head turned.
Wes stared hard. Law stopped mid-laugh and did a double-take.
The man who walked in was tall, model-on-a-runway tall. He wore a long, weathered charcoal-gray coat over a plain white T-shirt that clung to his frame like it was painted on. Oil-stained jeans, black biker boots, and thick, wavy, rich brown tresses falling to the middle of his back.