Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78237 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 391(@200wpm)___ 313(@250wpm)___ 261(@300wpm)
The bell above the door sounds, and I know Cyrus hears it, too, because his body goes tense. He glares down at me. “Tell them this is nothing. Or else.”
“In here, Officers! He’s in here and making threats to a witness,” Willow says with far too much joy. She steps back and holds the swinging door with one hand, the other pointing at Cyrus. “Look at her face. He did that.”
My hands immediately go to my face, and the officers glare at Cyrus before closing the gap and bending him over the stainless steel table.
“This is just a big understanding,” he says in his best sales voice, but the officers aren’t deterred. They read him his rights and drag him to the dining room while one stays behind with me.
“You all right, ma’am?”
I shiver and wrap my arms around myself and nod absently. “I’m not sure.” My hands clutch my throat as if his hands are still there. I try to force back the warm tears beginning to slide down my cheeks. “I will be.” I lie.
My hands shake uncontrollably, and my skin feels cold, but I’ll be all right as soon as this day is over and I can wash Cyrus’ violent touch from memory.
Chapter Four
Wilder
“I’m heading home to get some sleep and maybe some hot morning sex,” Gia says with an easy smile. She stretches the stiff neck and back known to computer hackers and gamers all over the world. “We can pick this up later, yeah?”
I nod and glance at the clock. It’s a little after ten, which means we’ve been going for too fucking long. “Shit, already?”
We spent most of the night digging and smoking. Smoking and digging. After Dix left the clubhouse with the prospects, Gia showed up to offer her help, and together we dug deeper into their lives. Their financial activities, their friends, loved ones, side pieces, and anyone else they might know or recruit to hide money for them.
So far, all we’ve got is aching muscles and a bad case of the munchies. “Yeah, go on home. I’m headed there myself. I’ll see you later. And Gia?”
She freezes and shoots me a wary look. “Yeah?”
“Thanks.”
Her shoulders relax, and a tired smile crosses her face. “No problem. We’re all some weird fucking family, right?”
I laugh and close my laptop. “Exactly right. I’m off to cure these munchies.” And at this time of the morning, there’s just one place to go.
“For Goodness Cakes?”
“Damn straight. I’m in the mood for one of those bacon and cheese breakfast pockets.”
“You should try the fancy one with serrano ham, some fancy cheese and raspberry jam. And when you order, get two of them. Later, man.” Gia leaves, and I’m not too far behind her after locking up the office and grabbing my helmet from the clubhouse.
My stomach growls like a motherfucker, and I switch gears to make sure I get to For Goodness Cakes before the damn lunch hour crowd gets all the good shit.
I slow down as I turn into the parking lot at the sight of flashing red and blue lights. Seeing cops is no big deal, but For Goodness Cakes isn’t a place where cops with emergency lights usually show up. They frequent the place because nobody makes donuts like Maven, but the flashing lights tell me this isn’t that.
I park right in front so I can keep an eye on my bike but far enough away from the cops to make us both comfortable. Then I throw my leg over my bike and head in, leaving the helmet on the first table I find inside the cheerful shop.
Two uniformed officers, one on the payroll and one not, have some khaki-wearing asshole in handcuffs. “This is just a big misunderstanding, officers. Just a small domestic spat,” he says to them in a smarmy voice that convinces no one.
My brows dip in concern. “What kind of domestic spat?” I ask. This is a small business, and only two women work here, Willow and Maven.
Khaki Asshole frowns in my direction. “What business is it of yours?”
I take a step forward. “I’m making it my business.”
Officer Montgomery is young and fresh-faced, and he shakes his head. “Tough guy here likes to smack women around.”
“She’s my woman, and I can do what I want with her,” he spits out.
Before I can ask who, Willow pushes through the swinging door, and her body settles into relief when she spots me.
“Wilder,” she says in recognition, either because she remembers how often I eat here—an embarrassing number of times each week—or because of her friendship with McKenna.
“Maven’s all right,” she says loudly as if she’s trying to make a point.
I don’t know exactly what the point is, but I take her lead. “She’s pressing charges?”
“Hell, yeah, she is,” Willow practically shouts in Khaki Asshole’s direction.