Total pages in book: 104
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 99017 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 495(@200wpm)___ 396(@250wpm)___ 330(@300wpm)
It’s not just a drug; it’s a form of currency. And Dex isn’t just a gym owner; he’s the exclusive dealer for every alpha-male wannabe in the NOPD who feels like a god every time he mixes his V9 packet into his morning smoothie. He bought their silence with cash, yeah, but also with an addiction only he can feed.
The cops “lost” all the evidence related to my hit-and-run because Dex is the only man in this part of the country who can keep them in supply. Justice was never in the cards for me. They didn’t even try. And sadly, the smartest thing I could have done was to move on without causing a fuss.
I wish I had.
Yes, a part of me still rages against the unfairness of it all, but the part of me that needs to keep Dean, Ava, and Bella safe is a hundred times louder. The accident is my past; they’re my future.
Please, let them still be my future. Please, let this nightmare be over soon, I chant silently to myself as I wash my hands and apply another coat of deodorant.
The bathroom mirror is cracked and the overhead light flickers like something from a horror movie, but I look remarkably fierce in my candy red jumpsuit and strings of glittering faux crystal necklaces. I look fierce and hopefully unforgettable to all the people about to watch me swagger into a dive coffee shop dressed like a supermodel refugee from the age of disco.
The dead man’s switch is our heavy hitter, but witnesses are a form of insurance, too.
I look at the scar on my cheek, that two-inch streak of silver Dex is responsible for putting on my face. I deliberately avoided covering it with makeup tonight. I want Gio to see it, and the scars on my arm, too. I want him to see that I’ve already been through hell. I doubt he’ll feel any guilt for what his partner did to me, but I hope my scars will give me street cred, that they’ll prove I’m not kidding when I explain what will go down if anything happens to Plato, me, or anyone we love.
Back in the room, Plato is out of his chair, taking his turn staring down at the street below.
We set up a camera on the window ledge this afternoon to record my meeting with Gio and the street in front of both the coffee shop and the gym. If they try something sketchy, we’ll get it on tape. Plato’s recording to his laptop and to a remote folder somewhere, for extra insurance.
It might be too late for insurance to make any difference for me personally at that point, but…
Refusing to think about that, I pull on my jean jacket and reach for the backpack. “Everything’s set in here, right?”
Plato turns from the window, nodding. “Yep, my laptop, the external drive, and both our old phones. That’s everything. Though once you give Gio the news about the dead man’s switch, they might not care about destroying the hardware.” More of the color drains from his face as he adds, “Be careful after you tell him, Clover. He’s not going to be happy.”
I nod. “I know. But I’ll make him see that it’s the only thing that makes sense to ensure everyone honors their part of the bargain. And I’ll make sure he believes me when I say that as long as they’re ready to forget this happened, we are, too.”
My sad, stressed-as-hell friend crosses the room, pulling me in for a hug. “Okay. Be careful. I wish they’d let me do this part. I don’t like that they insisted on it being you.”
“Well, if they think I’ll be an easier target, they’re wrong,” I say, squeezing him tight. I pull back, adding with a forced smile, “I’m way scarier than you are.”
His lips twitch, but a smile doesn’t form. “Yeah, you are. Don’t take any shit, and I’ll see you soon.”
“See you soon,” I agree. “And again, I’m so sorry.”
“Stop.” He shakes his head. “Just go get it done and then head to the rendezvous point. I’ll pack up everything here and meet you there in fifteen minutes tops.”
I nod. “And we’ll celebrate.”
“We will,” he says, but I can tell he doesn’t believe it.
He’s deeply spooked. So am I, but I can’t give up hope. I have too much to stay hopeful for. That’s the funny thing about death threats and Trouble with a capital T. It really puts your average, everyday fears in perspective, while underlining the things that matter in permanent ink.
I’m no longer afraid of dating a man with children, or falling in love with him and his girls, or all the sacrifices I’ll have to make to be the woman they need me to be. Right now, the only thing that scares me is the thought of never getting to hug Ava or Bella again, never getting to laugh with them in the kitchen, never drifting off to sleep again in Dean’s arms.