Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 305(@200wpm)___ 244(@250wpm)___ 203(@300wpm)
That was what unsettled me. The lack of theater. A man who took no pleasure in killing but did it anyway because the fucker had needed to die. And I’d thrown my lot in with him.
I pressed my back harder against the wall and tried to find the part of me that wanted to be sick and repulsed. It was in there somewhere. I had vomited in my own kitchen sink only hours ago over a man I shot to keep him from killing Griffin. The same part should have been working overtime now. Instead I held onto how I was desperately glad the prospect hadn’t made it back to whoever waited in that truck.
The shame of being relieved by the young man’s death would come later. Just now, though, I couldn’t give a good Goddamn.
I peeled myself away from the warehouse wall and slipped back along the path toward the inner ring of warehouses to the one with my room, keeping to the deepest part of the netting’s shadow, and I didn’t look back to see if Griffin had seen me and simply waited until I moved to follow me.
I made it back through the courtyard and into the building without anyone calling out behind me. Once inside, I stepped onto the lift and the doors slid shut on the empty cab and I let my weight fall against the back wall. I stayed there until the doors slid open.
The hall outside my door sat as quiet as I had left it. I keyed myself in, threw the deadbolt, and stood with my back sagged against the wood until I knew my knees wouldn’t give out.
The bandage on my palm had bled through at the center, a faint dark pink bloom against the white. Honestly, I just wanted to cover up my head and hide. Just for a little while. I also didn’t want an infection because my wound was dirty. Shit was getting real and had no idea which way to go or what to do. Or, more importantly, who to trust.
I undressed and washed myself with a wet cloth, not wanting to get in the shower in case someone came for me and I didn’t hear.
Once I’d cleaned the dried blood and rebandaged my hand, I climbed into bed, sliding under the covers and pulling them to my chin. I lay flat on my back, watching the ceiling.
I thought about the prospect.
I thought about my sister.
In my opinion, one deserved death. The other didn’t. And that was the crux of my moral dilemma. I didn’t care that a man not much younger than me had been killed because the men he ran with had a hand in my sister’s disappearance. I understand the probability of me seeing Tessa alive again wasn’t high. So, the leap to say this man was responsible in some way for my sister’s death wasn’t far. If that made me a bad person, I’d wear the label like a badge of honor. And I knew in my heart I’d be forever grateful to Griffin for what he did tonight.
As to the whole me being his woman thing… Yeah. Wasn’t naive enough to think that meant anything, either.
I turned my face to the wall. The pillowcase had a light floral scent, clean and cool against my cheek. I closed my eyes. When sleep came for me this second time, it came quickly. And I didn’t fight it.
Chapter Seven
Griffin
Lana Thompson, a family lawyer who worked closely with Hannah, Knuckles’ old lady, arrived at the compound just after seven in the morning carrying two hard cases and a leather satchel. I knew she worked as a family lawyer, but she’d also recently worked with Rip’s brother, Ethan, on a domestic violence case at Haven. Haven was literally what the place meant to so many women and children in abusive situations. Right now, Lana and Knight were the brains working through Veda’s ledgers and files and videos. I couldn’t deny having a lawyer basically on retainer made everything a lot different.
She moved through the main common room comfortably, like she felt right at home with the rough-looking bunch of ex-con bikers. She actually did. I knew her history with the club well enough to know she had walked into worse rooms with less preparation and walked out having extracted whatever she came for. She was small but athletic, her red hair up in an elegant twist, green eyes already reading the space as she came through the door. She looked at the table where Knight had spread Veda’s materials and continued to work. His office was in the process of an upgrade -- which was code for he’d gotten a new gaming system he wanted to install -- and didn’t have the spare room at the moment.
“Knight.” Lana put her briefcase on the table. One of the brothers had taken the cases from her the second she’d entered. He set them on the table beside her stuff. She looked around at the mess of papers and printouts Knight had “organized” on the table. Which was to say, everything lay scattered randomly. “You know, this would be much easier in your office.”