Total pages in book: 43
Estimated words: 40012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 40012 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 200(@200wpm)___ 160(@250wpm)___ 133(@300wpm)
Michael.
If he was still alive, I’d gladly hand over everything I owned. Of course I would, because none of it—not the house, the cars, or the seven-digit figures in my bank accounts—was worth anything in comparison to her.
It only took me a minute to find the text conversation I was looking for. And believe it or not, I actually had to steady my hand before I could send the text that might very well safe her life.
“Alive?” I wrote simply.
I was tempted to pray to whatever deity might be out there, but I thought better of it. If there was a god out there, he’d never done me any favors. After what I’d become, I didn’t think he was likely to start now. It was probably better to just stay under the radar.
I stood there clutching the phone like a lifeline, waiting for it to vibrate and save her life. Waiting.
A minute passed, and then another. Still waiting. My eyes were fixed on the screen, and I willed a god damned response to appear.
Nothing. Fuck.
I wanted to keep standing here, waiting, but I didn’t. I slipped the phone into the pocket and slid on my pants. I didn’t have time to waste waiting for a reply that wasn’t going to come. A glance at Scar to confirm she was still fast asleep, and I ducked into the closet and opened the laptop on the table there. Needing to acquaint myself with the place where Mateo wanted me, I pulled up maps of the area.
Really though, I was just stalling. I needed to get in touch with Vicente, even if I wasn’t certain he was trustworthy. He was my only option, so I needed to make the arrangements that would guarantee I’d never see Scar again. And if I was going to do that, what difference did it make if I died? It meant one less monster in the world, and if I happened to take a few of them with me, all the better.
My thigh vibrated and I yanked out the phone.
“Yeah,” it said.
Four letters. I’d never imagined the power of four, simple letters. Relief flooded my veins, but I pushed it back. It was too soon. Michael was alive, but that didn’t mean he would help me again. I would be forever in his debt for the last time. What I was about to ask him, I had no business asking, but how could I not?
“Up for more trouble with the same product? A transport issue. Substantial compensation for a successful delivery.” There. Yeah, I felt like shit for calling Scar a product, but the coding was necessary.
And now, what more could I say? My whole world depended on a few text messages on a phone with a man I didn’t know. If I thought begging would make him any more likely to help, I’d do it. Yes, me—Derek Vaughan—would beg and plead if it would make a difference, but it wouldn’t.
“Why not,” he wrote, and I was automatically suspicious.
That was too easy. Far too easy. Why would he agree with nothing more than my world he’d be compensated? It was precisely the response I’d been hoping for, but nothing came that easy. Not for me. But what the fuck was I supposed to do?—turn down his help, after I’d just finished asking for it?
The only other option was Vicente, and there was no guarantee he was any more trustworthy than Michael. At least I knew why Michael had helped Scar. I knew nothing of Vicente’s motivations. All I knew for certain was I would never see her again if I handed her over to Vicente, but that also meant I’d never know for sure that he got her away safely.
All right, so I would proceed with caution with Michael.
“Meet?” I texted. If I was going to do this, I wanted to meet with him first, alone.
“When? Where?”
I typed the GPS coordinates of a nearby location, along with 9 am and tomorrow’s date.
“I’ll be there.”
It just felt too easy. I had to ask. “Catch?”
“No money. I want your contacts. Every. Single. One.”
Hmm. That might explain it. And knowing what the man had to gain put me more at ease. Perhaps this was why Michael had not perished in the fire that had burned down Filipe Ruiz’s estate. He wasn’t satisfied taking out a handful of guards and nobodys. He wanted to kill them all.
He’d never succeed—for every monster who died, two would rise up to take his place—but I couldn’t help but commend the effort. Too bad the new vigilante wouldn’t make it anywhere close to the top before he was taken out.
I would get there though. I was going to stand face-to-face with Mateo Lopez, and then I was going to blow his brains out. Maybe I’d give Mateo Michael’s regards.