Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
I was critically close to breaking something, and before that something became Black’s nose, I stood, carrying my almost empty plate to the sink. I dumped the rest of the food into the trash then rinsed my plate, using the running faucet to splash some cold water onto my face, careful to avoid my healing scab.
The breathing exercises I’d been taught came in handy at this very moment. I closed my eyes, inhaling deep and exhaling slowly, mentally counting out ten reps. Once I was through, my shoulders sagged in relief.
This was a means to an end. It wouldn’t last forever. I needed to calm my shit down.
But I didn’t want to calm my shit down. I wanted to brawl with a worthy opponent. I knew it would help nothing. Thing is, it was who I was. And I may not feel better after the sparring was over, but while it was happening, I was on cloud fucking nine.
I heard Black approach the sink and opened my mouth to blast sharp words at him like knives, but when I turned, the words turned to dust in my mouth.
My eyes remained glued to the spot at the center of the dining table.
Behind me, he placed his plate into the sink, pausing only a moment to lay a hand on my shoulder, squeezing firmly for a split second before heading up the stairs and into his bedroom on the first floor.
The door closed quietly and, without feeling much of anything, I moved toward the table, my bare feet padding along the cool tiled floor.
I moved to the chair I had occupied at dinnertime, reached over and snatched them up in my hand, not daring to look at them until I made it to the safety of my room, closing the door behind me and switching on the light.
The bed beckoned me to it, and I sat quietly, lifting the small bundle of photographs up to eye level.
I smiled down at the first candid photo.
AJ sitting in a shopping cart, looking decidedly shamefaced as he snuck a candy bar in with the other groceries. A young woman dressed in all black with her hair styled into a short black bob, black painted lips and smoky eyes mock glaring at my son, her hands on her hips.
I didn’t know the Goth chick, but she couldn’t have been any older than twenty-one.
The next photograph had my heart skipping a beat.
In the park, AJ playing with his trucks as Lexi lies flat on her stomach on the plush grass. He rolls the trucks over Lexi’s jean clad bottom, using my baby’s spectacular ass as a mountain for his earthmovers to move across. It was a little thicker than I remembered, but not at all less tempting, maybe even more so. I brought the photo closer to my face and squinted, but Lexi’s smiling face was blurred. Disappointment flooded me.
Damn.
The next photo had my throat thickening.
Lexi, dressed in a white sundress, her long, wavy hair flowing around her as the wind carries it. She held herself, looking miserable as she leaned her back against the front of a white marble headstone, a single daisy tucked behind her ear.
My white marble headstone.
My everything, this woman.
The next image was taken the same day. Lexi leaning into the white marble, pressing her cheek to it, an expression of sheer longing worn on her beautiful face. The daisy now laid across what should be my eternal resting place.
Dangerously close to crying, I flipped to the next image and bit the inside of my cheek as I took in the image of my somber son placing a handful of chocolate buttons on top of that headstone.
And just like that, I crumbled.
The first of the tears fell, and my breathing hitched, echoing into the silence of the cold, sterile bedroom. The place where my heart should be ached uncontrollably. My chest heaving, I tried to take in a full breath as I clutched the photo in both hands, so hard that it wrinkled, and kissed the image of my son over and over again.
I needed to get home to him.
To them.
My purpose renewed, I reminded myself that everything I do, I do for the people I love.
Failure is not an option.
Two weeks, three days later…
Phoenix is hotter than I remember, even at night.
The black military-style convoy bounces, jolting all the occupants of the vehicle, as we travel the bumpy road into the desert.
This bust is going to be easier than the others, easy because Bogdan Mihailović was arrested this morning. That doesn’t necessarily mean it’s going to be without its work. My thinking is now that Mihailović is in lock-up, his shit is going to be tight. Tight, as in triple security. That’s if his crew aren’t already moving locations.
Surveillance quickly came to know his habits and determined he visited the same café every morning in his hometown of Chicago, Illinois. Before he had a chance to order his breakfast, Black’s guys swooped on him. He was taken into custody on little more than a whim, and now I’m silently praying the foxhole is still where I remember it to be.