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)
He should eat, though. His stomach had been hollow for hours, and the acid burn from too much adrenaline and not enough hydration was chewing at his gut.
He went to the sandwich vending machine and punched at the buttons as if they’d offended him.
He chose a bacon and egg croissant and an orange juice.
He yanked the microwave door open, tossed his shitty breakfast inside, slapped it closed, and hit a couple random numbers until the machine hummed to life.
Wes leaned on the counter, staring at nothing while the seconds dragged by.
His thoughts drifted back to last night.
Law’s body curled into his, trembling after that breakdown. The weight of him. The heat of his breath on his shoulder as he thrust deep inside him.
The repeated “I love you.”
Wes exhaled through his nose.
That time, he hadn’t said it back, and he still didn’t know why.
Maybe because everything between them was hovering around ifs, maybes, and dammit, what next?
The microwave beeped. Wes didn’t move.
Ten minutes later, he sat down at the table with the lukewarm croissant in front of him and the orange juice sweating beside it.
He braced his elbows on the table, staring down at the food as if he could mentally ingest it.
Why do you do this to me, Law? Why are you literally risking your life?
He wanted them to take some low-level pyro gigs in the Atlanta scene. Work some music videos, haunted houses, maybe even stage productions at the Fox Theater. Just enough to float them until they could claw their way back to LA.
No, it wasn’t glamorous. But it’d be quiet, a decent paycheck, and most of all, safe.
Something his best friend didn’t seem to understand.
Law didn’t do patience well. He wanted everything now. Every opportunity, every win, every damn chance to say, “I told you I could do it.” Even if it meant his life going up in smoke.
Wes’s jaw ticced as he clenched it so hard his molars screamed.
The door opened behind him, and the moment Vasquez walked in, the temperature shifted.
A frozen spike pierced the fire blazing inside him.
Vasquez stopped mid-step, clocking him before he detoured to the coffee machine. His stroll was extra casual and fake as hell.
Wes glared so hard he hoped it’d sear the sleazy grin right off the fucker’s face.
Vasquez shifted under his stare while he poured his coffee, glancing Wes’s way every few seconds.
“Hey,” Vasquez said with a half-smile. “I hope I didn’t spook you guys last night. I was just ribbing you, man. A little police hazing. All rookies get it.”
Wes didn’t respond.
Vasquez cleared his throat. “I heard what happened at the raid. Sorry to hear it went south. But hey, that’s kinda par for the course when you run with Godfrey.”
Wes curled his fist around the edge of the table.
“But I’ve been hearing talk, y’know?” Vasquez continued, smooth and cunning as a snake in the grass. “Word is IA’s sniffing around, looking for a leak. I’m gonna keep my ear to the ground for you guys.”
He took a step closer to the table, “so um… Does God have any leads on who it was?”
The door to the breakroom banged open behind him.
“Get the fuck out.”
The command was calm. Measured and dead serious.
Wes stared.
Free stood in the doorway, lunch bag in one hand, tablet in the other, eyes locked on Vasquez with the kind of glower that could make a man second-guess his next move.
Vasquez’s nostrils flared.
“I said out!” Free snapped, his slight British lilt making the command sound twice as menacing. “Before I reroute your paychecks to Day’s Pornhub account.”
Wes’s eyes widened because he had a feeling Free could really do that.
Vasquez’s face twisted with something ugly, his scowl venomous. Wes could tell he wanted to pounce. Vasquez was twice Free’s size, with big arms and a solid chest.
He stood because he wasn’t about to let Free fight this guy by himself.
Vasquez glared. “Y’know, before you rudely interrupted, I was having a cordial conversation with your new recruit. I was about to ask him—”
“If your fat bottom lip was touching the top one, you’d be shutting the fuck up, that’s what you’re about to do,” Free gritted. “Now, this is the last time I’m gonna tell you to get out, you’re contaminating our air.”
A few seconds ticked by before Vasquez headed toward the door, giving Free a wide berth.
“You’ve grown some pretty big balls, Freeman,” Vasquez snarled.
“No shit. Sometimes I’m surprised I can even walk,” Free said dryly.
Vasquez stormed out of the door, slamming it closed behind him.
Wes couldn’t believe what he’d just seen…or heard.
“Bad history,” Free muttered at his confused expression as he sat at the table across from him. “He’s had it in for God’s team for years. Stay away from him, Wes. That’s not a warning. It’s an order. Got it?”
Wes nodded and slumped back in his chair. “Didn’t know you were packin’ heat like that.”