Series: Shame On You Series by Willow Winters
Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51495 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 257(@200wpm)___ 206(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
I roll the window down as we sit in the car, counting down the minutes while Jase and Daniel load up their guns before heading out. It’s dark and there’s plenty of brush for them to hide behind. Two of us will be seated in the car. Carter, with his hood up, could be anyone, certainly could look like Nate driving me to a meet that doesn’t exist, setting me up for an arrest.
The back car doors shut and I’m left alone with a cold breeze, the taste for vengeance. My brother is to my left, holding his Glock in his hand and allowing the sounds of the night to drift in.
“We might get all three in one go,” Carter murmurs.
I hum an affirmative response. “It’d be too fucking easy. Be done with it and get back home before Brae gets into bed.” The idea quirks my lips up even though my heart pounds and every muscle in me coils with the adrenaline that hasn’t quit all day.
“We trashing the cars?” I ask Carter, already thinking about what’s next. The tracker goes off on my phone.
“Wipe it and dump it into the river,” Carter answers as he pulls his hood up and then reaches into the glove compartment for another gun.
I smirk at him. “One for each hand?”
He lets out a laugh as the cars pull up behind us. One’s the detective. The other is a cop car. Both of us stay still as can be. “Never can be too careful,” he says ever so eerily as red, white, and blue flash.
“Come out with your hands up,” the voice over the speaker is heard clear enough. The two cops stay back, I watch in the side mirror as our detective gets out of his car but stays behind the door. The voice comes back, one of the other cops, those poor fuckers, “I repeat, step out of your vehicle and come out with your hands up.”
Neither Carter nor I move. My heart thumps loud and heavy. The waiting is the worst part. It feels the heaviest and the longest.
“I hate this part,” I murmur and swallow thickly.
“It’ll be over soon,” Carter responds, neither of us daring to move even an inch.
“This is your last warning,” the one cop calls through the speaker, and I’m all too aware that he’s going to feel the need to call for backup. He has to know at this point that they should’ve never come here. Or maybe he believes the detective. That it’s just an arrest and the other man is on their side.
There’s only a small pang of guilt that flows through me as the cop door opens with the faintest click and the bang, bang, bang shoots out.
I turn in my seat, leaning out of the window and aim for the second cop, knowing my brothers have the others.
My body jolts and the world slows down as the bullets fly. The second cop ducks down in his seat while the window finally breaks from the relentless gunfire. The detective’s car is fucked, popped tires and shattered glass.
In my periphery, I see the detective lifeless. He never had a chance. The first cop is in the driver's seat, the second still hidden but trapped.
Jase is faster than me and closer, striding up to the cop car and yanking the door open, a gun pointed at the cop’s face. Daniel’s on the other side of him and Carter and I make our way up to the car.
We have him surrounded. Jase removes the keys from the car, and the glass crunches under my feet as I walk up. Daniel reaches through the shattered window, opens the door from the inside and pulls the man out. He’s dressed in his blues.
“Officer Angino didn’t make it,” I comment as I realize it’s McKinley that’s on his knees in the gravel road, begging for us not to kill him.
I swallow thickly, my finger on the trigger as my brothers wait silently. Not responding to the pleas echoing out into the cold night from the man. His breath turns to fog as he heaves in and out.
“You call for backup?” I question and McKinley looks at me a second too long, debating what answer to give me.
Bang! The gun kicks back in my hand and the poor bastard screams out, gripping his knee. Blood slips between his fingers as his shoulder slams into the gravel road and he crumples over.
“Don’t lie to me,” I tell him calmly as I bend down.
He pathetically attempts to hold back the tears of pain and shakes his head. His teeth bite down into his lip. I imagine right now every regret is piling up in the forefront of his mind.
“Look at me,” I command and tap the gun against his cheek. The heat of it is searing and he bucks back.