Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Molly squeals when he nips at her ear. I manage to pull away, but she leans into him. They take more selfies and point at her phone for a bit before they start making out. I scan the crowd, looking for Milk and Juicy.
I make my way to the back and stop dead in my tracks when I see Magna. Some girl I don’t recognize—and who looks a helluva lot younger than me—is on her knees sucking him off. His eyes track me, though. Wild and domineering. I pretend I don’t see him, scurrying past him. Before I pass, he stops me with a hand to my thigh.
“Honey,” Magna tells the girl. “Go practice sucking dick on Bouncer. I can barely stay hard.”
She frowns and starts to put his cock back in his jeans, but he shakes his head. “I said go, woman.”
I try not to look at his half-hard dick, hoping he’ll let my thigh go so I can bail. He squeezes me hard enough to make me yelp.
“I still want to come,” he grunts out, his eyes red from drinking. “And you’re prancing through here looking like a fine-ass treat. Since Junior’s busy, you can lend me a hand.” He pauses and cocks his head. “If you don’t make yourself useful around here, I might just have to send you back home.”
“Magna, I—”
He grabs the front of my crop top and yanks me to the floor between his spread thighs. “Wasn’t asking, Beauty Queen. Now suck my fucking dick before I make you.”
Koyn
Tick. Tick. Tick.
The giant clock on the wall in my office dances forward without a care in the world. As though Dragon and Katana last night didn’t deliver me the single morsel of information I’ve been salivating over for a decade.
Ten fucking years.
No leads. Dead ends. Cold case.
Now I have a name.
Randall Putnam.
Fire burns through my veins hot and searing. The thirst for vengeance is all I’ve known since I lost my girls, and now I feel like I’ll finally get a taste. Not just a sip, but I’ll gulp down the whole damn thing. Revenge is mine. So close.
I stare out the large window in my office, taking note of the trees and the way the rain patters down on the leaves, making them bounce. Despite all the rage flying around inside me like that of a F-5 tornado, this compound in Green Country keeps me as calm as someone like me will ever be. I’ve found peace here, and soon, I’ll find justice too.
Swiveling around in my chair, I stare at my computer. In my past, I spent so much goddamn time in front of it for my company. I was the best in my field. Annihilated the competition. Made a cushy life for my family. When they were murdered, I abandoned that life altogether. I spent the next year ruthlessly hunting down the man who ran from me. All I had to go on was he was a biker and the emblem on his cut. It led me to the Royal Bastards. Unlike those motherfuckers who took from me, the RBs were different. I felt a sense of brotherhood right from the start. The moment I met Filter, I knew I needed something to connect me to this world. Something to give me purpose. I found that in the club life.
I turn off my biker mind filled with revenge and hate, tapping into my IT brain. I once had contracts all over the globe, specifically with the National Security Agency, which paid me to hack their systems. To crack their security. I was to outline where they were penetrable and design programs to safeguard them from future attacks. Because our world revolves around information technology, it was a booming business to be in. One I was the absolute best at. In fact, I drove away all the competition by hacking into their shit and dismantling it. If they couldn’t protect their own information, they certainly didn’t deserve my clients.
While Copper hunts down Randall using his work connections, Halo shakes up his military buddies, and Dragon scours social media, I’ll do the dirty work. The shit I’m really fucking good at. I’m going to hunt him down and destroy him.
I start with his criminal record. Everything from domestic violence to child endangerment to multiple counts of sex with a minor. Fucking sick bastard. From his publically available criminal record, I then trace it back to which precinct he was booked into. I crack open their database with such ease I’m embarrassed for them, and then pull up the actual police reports. The child endangerment one piques my curiosity. I discover it’s his son.
His. Fucking. Son.
Eye for an eye, asshole.
Randall Michael Putnam, Jr.
I pause on Putnam to go on a hunt for his son. He’s twenty-one now. High school dropout. Last known address in New Orleans. I locate his son’s mother, a woman named Lydia who overdosed on methamphetamines when the kid was three. Putnam was an abusive fucker, but it never landed him any prison time. Just in and out of jail. When he got caught fucking with some girls, he went to the pen in Huntsville, Texas. Then, his son bounced around foster homes until he ran away for good at age twelve. Or was kidnapped. Putnam’s release date lines up with the son going missing.