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)
Vasquez stood in front of the scratched mirror over the sink. His reflection was ghostlike: ashen skin, exhaustion carved deep beneath his eyes as if he hadn’t slept in days.
Vasquez was getting pissed at the two rookies in the aisle across from him, who were going on and on about the task force.
“Come on, man. God and Day just finished the press conference. They’re coming back in,” one said, racing past him.
Why is everyone acting like they just found the fuckin’ cure for cancer?
He tried not to feel like a loser. But doing the right thing rarely felt good. Especially when nobody would ever know it.
He’d fed Mercer the wrong date and time. Sold him out. Now, the most ruthless dealer Atlanta had ever contended with was sitting in a jail cell because of him.
Since the bust, Vasquez had gotten four death threats on the burner phone. He’d broken it into pieces and flushed it down the toilet.
Vasquez zipped his uniform and badge in his duffel, then tucked his service weapon in the small of his back.
Every cop and personnel employee in the building avoided looking him in the eye as he walked down the hall toward the exit.
He didn’t care. He had no fight left in him.
He ducked out of the back exit to avoid the dozens of cameras and reporters out front.
The sky hadn’t warmed yet, and the morning air hit him with the weight of another long day.
He stuffed his hands into his jacket pockets and started the short walk toward the bus stop.
He’d have to wait thirty minutes for the ten o’clock bus that would take him to his father’s nursing home.
His old sedan had needed brake pads, a master cylinder, and a miracle. So, he’d made the difficult decision to scrap it and pay his father’s bills and the next two weeks at the motel, and deal with the inconvenience of taking public transportation.
He kept his head down, shoulders hunched as his duffel bounced against his bad hip.
Thankfully, the bus stop was empty.
He kept his back turned toward the corner of the shelter, not wanting any of his shitty colleagues to see him.
He sank down onto the bench and pulled out his phone, ignoring his grumbling stomach. He had no messages from Joshi, and he still hadn’t responded to his last text.
He was hoping he wasn’t being ghosted.
What if Joshi had asked around about him and decided he wasn’t worthy of any more of his time?
His thumb was trembling as he hovered over the screen, trying to think of something intelligent to say.
He closed his eyes.
Even through the stench of piss and car exhaust, he could almost smell Joshi’s cologne, spicy and clean, feel his steady hand stroking his jaw.
I wanna see you again…soon.
Vasquez huffed a soft, bitter laugh.
Yeah right.
A car rolled slowly past the intersection, then made a U-turn. He didn’t think anything of it, not bothering to look up…until brilliant white lights flashed before his eyes.
The hard pops sounded like someone slamming a hammer against a steel door.
For a moment, Vasquez didn’t realize what the sounds were or where they’d come from until he jerked once, then twice, before slamming into the hard frame of the shelter.
A hot, scalding knife drove deep into his gut, and then higher, under his ribs.
The fuck…
He looked down.
Blood spilled between his fingers like molasses. So much red highlighted by the early morning sun.
Everything felt distant and slow, as though he were moving underwater.
Another explosion of pain blasted through his shoulder, spinning him sideways off the bench, his knees meeting unforgiving asphalt.
The burn tore through him again, sharper this time, before, finally, the fear sank in. This was it. Life had dealt him his cards, and there was no more bluffing. It was time to fold.
Vasquez tried to suck in a breath, but his chest was too tight, as though he was being crushed under concrete.
The phone slipped from his hand.
He didn’t know he was face down until his cheek scraped the pavement, the taste of blood filling his mouth, so much he was choking on it.
Tires screeched and people yelled in his face, but he couldn’t hear or make out what they were saying. All he understood was the unyielding, merciless agony.
Every breath he tried to take felt like broken glass dragging across his chest.
His vision swam as darkness crowded the edges.
Reality stole every thought, dream, or hope of a different future he’d dreamed of.
He began to shiver. It was so cold.
He thought of Joshi’s warm hands, his tender kisses, and of his father, who would be alone the rest of his days.
Not like this…not like this…
Sirens screeched in the distance like howling banshees, and the sun blurred into a huge starburst before everything went black.
Wesley (Wes) Drake
Wes had barely held himself together and not wrapped himself in Law’s arms from the moment he walked out of Free’s vault. And through the firefights, the smoke, the shouting, and the shooting. Through the press conference of flashing cameras and people yelling questions left and right.