Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 110089 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 550(@200wpm)___ 440(@250wpm)___ 367(@300wpm)
And the clock is already ticking down.
TWENTY-SIX
Justice
Fury clocks through me as I jump in the back of the town car, Wynd sliding in from the other side. My driver is a guy named Bronco, and it fits. He’s large, broad, and armed. Funny thing is, it’s actually his name.
I pull up my phone and start updating a fucking app I didn’t think I’d need for a while. It’s a good half hour from doing what I need.
“I’m so sorry,” Wynd says.
I hold up a hand. “It’s Ella. I should have figured. I had all electronics removed from the penthouse.” I try not to smile, because it’s fucking brilliant. And yet, she’s out there, alone.
I press a couple buttons on my phone, instructing Kaz to find her.
We drive for nearly half an hour, almost to the penthouse, when Bronco stiffens.
“Hold on, boss,” he says. “We have trouble.”
I look up just in time to see another town car barreling toward us down the mainly quiet street.
“What do you want me to do?” Bronco’s voice stays steady as his foot sinks deeper.
I pull my gun from its holster and glance at Wynd. “We play chicken.”
“Sounds good.” Wynd’s grin is feral, even with the bruise.
Bronco lowers his head, engine screaming, and we surge forward.
Movement flashes in my peripheral—a streak of black cutting out of an alley and across the lane. Before I can process it, another car slams into us dead center, right between the driver’s door and mine.
The impact throws me across the car. I smash into Wynd, my forehead cracking against the opposite window. Glass sprays. The car spins, metal groaning, tires screeching as the world tilts sideways. We slam into the opposing alley, the car crashing into brick.
For a moment everything goes black. Then … silence. Just the sound of glass raining down across the floorboards.
“What the fuck?” My voice rasps, raw. I turn, disoriented, as my door crumples inward with a groan of tearing steel. At least nobody is shooting at us this time.
I smash out the rest of the glass with my elbow and shove Wynd’s door wide. I barely hit the ground before Alexei is there, gun jammed hard into my chest.
Blood trails down my face, sticky and hot, but I don’t wipe it away. Fury rises sharp and fast inside me. I shift aside as Wynd stumbles free of the wreck. Bronco is still hunched over the wheel, motionless.
“He better fucking be breathing,” I hiss, then square myself toward Alexei.
The barrel doesn’t move. I keep my own weapon down, angled at the asphalt. No point in dying stupid.
His eyes are black fire, unblinking. It’s only been a short time since we met, and he’s still wearing the black suit and tie. I lean in, pressing my chest into the steel. If he wanted me dead, he should’ve made a move back in the warehouse. “What the holy fuck do you think you’re doing?”
“Was it you?” His voice is low, lethal.
My skull pounds, blood dripping into my eye. “No.” I don’t even know what he’s accusing me of. But it wasn’t me.
“You don’t know what I mean.”
“I don’t give a fuck what you mean.”
He tilts the gun back a fraction, gaze locked. “You really don’t.”
“No, and if you don’t lower that thing, I’ll shove mine up your ass.”
The grin that splits his face isn’t humor. It’s a predator baring teeth. “Somebody shot a missile into my new homestead ten minutes ago. I thought you were trying to make an even bigger statement than the one you made earlier.”
“Rosalie?” My voice cracks more than I want to admit. “Is she alive?” I can’t tell Ella that her friend is dead.
“She’s fine. Everyone’s fine.” He lowers the gun. “It was the guest house that blew.”
My chest loosens. Who is shooting missiles at us?
“Which means her seven boarders are moving into my house.” His voice hardens, rising. “Seven old men. Eating my food. Breathing my air. Until I build them something else.”
I blink. “What?”
He snarls. “She took them in years ago. From her old place. I promised her a roof, so I built them one. Now it’s rubble, and they’re mine until I replace it.”
“Send them to a home.”
His jaw tightens, teeth grinding. “That’s not how it works.” Then his eyes cut back to me. “You all right?”
“I’m fine.” My head throbs, blood stings my eye, and my vision is edged in black. Part of me wants to shoot him for payback, just in the knee, but I have more pressing matters to handle right now. “I didn’t bomb you.”
“Yeah, I get that now.” He takes a step back and looks at my damaged vehicle. “I owe you a car.”
“You better not owe me a driver. Bronco.” I look over my shoulder. “Wake up.”
The man doesn’t move.
“Bronco. His name’s Bronco?” Alexei asks.