Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76203 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 381(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
This wasn’t exactly hilly terrain, save for the Death Valley mountains in the distance. You could see all around. And I wasn’t seeing anyone.
“Everleigh!” I yelled, rushing around the house.
“Hey, you okay?” Riff asked, coming out the front door.
“I can’t find Everleigh,” I said, stomach twisting.
“She was out here taking a phone call,” Riff said. “Pacing around though. Seemed a little anxious. Could she have taken a walk?”
She could have.
But I would have seen her when I drove through town and toward the clubhouse.
“I… I don’t like this,” I said, voice tight.
I didn’t panic often. And even Riff, who wasn’t around much, understood that. He got stiffer at the sound of it in my voice, in the way it was rushing off of me in currents.
“I’ll get everyone moving,” he said. “Call her phone,” he suggested.
Right.
Yeah.
She had her phone.
Reaching for mine, I found her in my contacts and dialed as I started to walk around.
It rang once.
Twice.
Three…
To voicemail.
Wait.
I dialed again, and sure enough, faintly, a while off, I could hear something ringing.
Could she just have fallen? Gotten hurt? Was on the ground, and that was why I didn’t see her?
I took off at a dead run as I kept calling.
But there was no Everleigh.
Just her phone, facedown on the ground, the screen cracked.
I picked it up, finding she didn’t even have a passcode on it. That was how trusting this woman was.
I checked her call log.
Sure enough, the last call was her mom.
But that had ended well over an hour ago. Closer to two.
“Fuck,” I yelled, not caring who heard me and the raw desperation in my voice. “Fuck fuck fuck,” I added for emphasis, running back toward the clubhouse where the guys were all outside. “I found her phone. But not her.”
I watched the understanding dawn on their faces. Mingled with a small bit of guilt.
It wasn’t their job to watch her.
There’d never been any indication that she was in danger. Especially not so close to the clubhouse.
“Rook,” Riff said.
“Yeah,” I agreed, nodding at him.
We had cameras.
And even if they didn’t catch anything, the ones in town might give us some insight.
Riff was rushing off without another word.
“What can I do?” Colter asked. New, but ready and willing to act.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“How willing you are to get involved with a potential street war,” I told him.
“What are you thinking?” Sway asked, Murphy at his side.
“I’m thinking we need to find Gray Beacher. Now. And he might be working with Czar and Erion. Which is where I am heading now.”
“We’ll check out Gray’s place,” Sway said, nodding toward Raff.
“And me,” Murphy said.
“Like hell,” Sway hissed.
“Murphy, can you stay here and tell everyone else what is going on as they pull in?” I asked. I understood she was capable. But also Sway’s desire to keep her safe.
Murphy’s eyes flashed, but she gave me a tight nod.
“And wake up Coach from whatever trance-like state he’s in, and send him toward Czar and Erion,” I added.
“Got it,” she agreed, turning, and making her way back to the clubhouse.
“So you and me against a couple of drug lords,” Colter said, nodding. “Sounds like a good time to me.”
We didn’t wait for Coach.
He would just have to catch up.
There wasn’t time to spare.
We only paused to grab guns and our keys, then we were off, Colter keeping close on his borrowed bike as I sped through Shady Valley so fast that everything fucking blurred.
I didn’t know a shitton about Erion and Czar’s new alliance and business ventures, but I did know that they were operating out of Nyx’s old apartment building for the time being.
Lotta people in and out, hard for the cops to stake the place out. It made sense.
I didn’t pause to make sure Colter was there, was keeping pace, would have my back. I flew up the stairs because I was too impatient to wait for the elevator, and stormed down the hallway to find the apartment I was looking for.
Then I nearly knocked the fucking thing off the hinges.
“The fuck…” a voice called as the door opened.
There was Erion Kadare.
Former boss of the Albanian mob before the Russians took the whole crew out while he was locked up.
Current dealer of heroin in the area.
He was tall and strong with black hair and bright blue eyes. His face was all angles from his sharp, cleft jaw to the juts of his cheekbones and stern brow.
There weren’t a lot of criminals around these days that had that sort of bloodthirsty, cold, ruthless mindset of the glory days of organized crime.
Erion Kadare, though, was one of them.
So when I raised my gun and shoved it into his throat while pushing him back into his apartment, the only reaction I got out of him was a slightly arched brow.
There wasn’t much in the apartment.
A couch, a TV, a table.