Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 71312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71312 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 357(@200wpm)___ 285(@250wpm)___ 238(@300wpm)
Most days I go about my job, helping new parolees get back on their feet, see that they become productive members of society.
Until Gunnar, or someone else from my father’s organization, walks in with a file.
Then I bend the rules.
I turn a blind eye, look the other way.
I’ll meet Sasha Munoz today at the prison, and then I’ll never see her again. Someone else will come to the appointments. Someone else will sit in my office for the hour-long conversation. Someone else will go to her therapy appointments.
Until she gets sent away again and then gets out on parole.
Which probably won’t happen. My father allows one fuck up, but never two.
If she ends up behind bars again, she won’t see the light of day ever again.
And I’m not talking about being in solitary.
Someone on the inside will take care of her.
I’ve seen it happen.
And no matter how much I put on an act, pretend it doesn’t matter.
I can’t shake the thought that what I’m doing is wrong.
And I hate it.
A week later…
A little girl is buried. She was four years old, blond with vibrant green eyes. Her mother’s heart, her father’s pride. Her big sister’s baby.
Caught in the crossfire.
The gunman?
Sasha Munoz.
“I’m out,” I say out loud when I hear the news. “I’m so fucking out.”
To my surprise, my mother and father allowed me to leave. I don’t know whatever happened to Sasha. I never looked into it because I don’t care. She may not have meant to kill a small child, but she did.
She fucking did.
If I’d done my job—if I hadn’t looked the other way—Sasha wouldn’t have had access to a firearm. Wouldn’t have been back at work.
And that sweet little girl would be alive today.
In the long run, though, does it matter? The organization found someone to fill my shoes. To let criminals slide through the system.
Before Sasha, I hadn’t received a visit from Gunnar or anyone else for nearly a year. I complained to my parents on more than one occasion, asking them to let me out of it. When so much time went by, I thought maybe they’d finally relented.
Until Gunnar came sauntering in, telling me about Sasha Munoz.
My mind is finally working again.
None of this should’ve surprised me. But it did. I was actually going to try to be happy here in the small town. Although screwing one of my parolees the first week on the job was a big mistake.
But damn. Falcon Bellamy makes me happy. He says he’s innocent, and I believe him.
I should know better.
After what I’ve seen in my lifetime, I know the word innocent has many meanings.
I don’t know what these guys think they’re going to do with me. My grandfather is their boss. Or is he? Surely he can’t be behind this.
He would never let them touch me.
The image of my brother’s body lying in a pool of blood is seared into my head for eternity.
It’s not my grandfather.
They’re not coming after me to do more dirty work. How could I have thought that? They can find hundreds of mercenaries who will be happy to look the other way.
No.
It’s a rival family who’s doing this. A rival organization.
It could be one of many, but already I’m sure who must be behind it.
Miles McAllister.
The man I was supposed to marry.
Our marriage would have created an alliance between the Bianchis and the McAllisters.
But I said no.
And they let me say no. Twice.
I hastily get into my clothes and do as Falcon requested, throwing his T-shirt and underwear into the changing room. I grab both of our phones and head back to Falcon, where he’s still sitting with Giancarlo.
The other one—the dark-haired one—is still out cold.
I hand him his phone. “Here you go.”
He looks at it. “Shit. I’m out of juice. Let me see yours.”
I hand him mine. “Who are you going to call?”
“The only person who I know will help us.”
“Your dad?”
“God no. I can’t bother my father with this. He needs to be focused on Raven. Just an old friend. At least I thought he was at one time.” He looks at my phone. “Shit. I don’t even know how to get hold of him. I hope he has the same number.”
“You remember his number?”
“I’ve known his cell number since he and I both got phones when we were twelve. I can only hope he still has the same one.”
Falcon taps some numbers into the phone.
Then, in the distance, the wail of sirens—like a wolf howling at the moon before he attacks.
These sirens will save the two men…but Falcon and I? We’ll be…
I can’t even think about it, but we have no choice. We have to face what we’ve done.
“Shit.” Falcon stands. “Let’s go.”
I grab his hand, wincing at the pain from my cuts. “They’ll come after us.”
He sighs. “I know. You’re right. But damn it, Vannah, I’m not going back in the slammer.”