Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 44902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“They took it,” Giant says. “But they aren’t doing anything with it. They called Dillon about it.”
“Fuck,” I growl, swerving into the parking lot for the Sheriff’s Office. I pull into the first available space and then kill the engine before climbing from the truck, my heart pounding a million miles a minute.
Giant easily keeps pace beside me as I jog toward the doors. Neither of us bothers to stop long enough to ask for directions. Dillon’s always hiding out in the broom closet he swears no one can find him in. Hate to tell him…but that shit isn’t working. The whole goddamn town knows not to even both looking in his actual office for him. We just go straight to the closet to find him when we need him.
I rap my knuckles against the door, and then push it open without waiting for an invitation. Dillon is seated at the tiny desk with Easton, one of his detectives, leaning over his shoulder. Neither of them even looks in our direction.
“You have to click right there,” Easton says, jabbing his finger at the screen.
“I did click right there,” Dillon rumbles. “It didn’t do shit.”
“You didn’t click the right spot.”
“The hell I didn’t.”
“Just point the fucking mouse and click, Dillon. Jesus Christ,” Easton growls. “Before I sign you up for computer literacy classes for Christmas.”
“Do you want to be the next crossing guard over at the school, motherfucker? Because I can make that happen,” Dillon threatens.
Easton just chuckles, flicking his gaze up to glance at us. “Come look at this before I decide to let him make me the next crossing guard.”
“What is it?” Giant asks, stomping the few steps across the closet. But it’s impossible for him to wedge his big ass body behind the desk with Easton and Dillon, so he just leans over the front, craning his neck to see the screen. “Is that their compound?”
“Yep.” Dillon fiddles with the mouse again. “Dallas sent us aerial footage from their drone.”
I stride toward the desk, nudging Giant out of the way. He moves aside without complaint, allowing me to look at the screen. My heart feels like it’s lodged in my chest when I see the photos arrayed across the screen. They’re crystal clear…and grim as fuck.
“Jesus,” I mutter, staring at the massive fence surrounding the compound. Razor-wire tops it, with a goddamn moat dug around it on the interior side as if to make it that much harder for anyone to get in or out undetected. The warehouses scattered around look new. But most of the cabins are in dire need of repair. Or bombing.
My gaze flicks across each image, trying to figure out where in that maze they kept Landry. She said it was hell, and she wasn’t lying. It looks like a fucking penal colony. And she survived in there for nearly a year on her own.
“They plan to raid the compound and the club at the same time,” Dillon says softly. “Sweep everyone up at the same time.”
“Will it work?” I ask, my gaze laser-focused on him.
“If they don’t know the feds are coming? Maybe.” He hesitates. “But if they know…”
“Her uncle reported her missing.”
Dillon turns a dark scowl on Giant.
“Don’t look at me like that. She’s his fiancée. He deserved to know,” Giant grunts. “And you were going to tell him anyway.”
“Yeah. After the wedding, not the day of, you dick,” Easton mutters to Giant, shaking his head. “She should be his main focus today, not this.”
“She will be his main focus. Telling him didn’t change that,” Giant argues, crossing his arms to lean up against an equipment shelf. “It just ensures he knows just how goddamn much she needs today to be perfect when tomorrow might not be. She needs perfect days to remind her what she’s fighting for, and he needs to know the truth so he can give her those days.”
Easton and Dillon look at him like they’re surprised by his logic, but I’m not. Giant may joke around and raise hell, but he knows what it’s like to have the woman he loves at risk. He’s been there, done that with his wife. And he’s a smart motherfucker.
“He’s right,” I growl at Dillon and Easton. “I needed to know. And I need to know what the fuck you’re doing about it.”
“Dallas is stringing the uncle along,” Dillon says, leaning back in his chair. “Pretending they’re looking into the case and don’t know a fucking thing about where she is. As far as her uncle will ever hear from them, they’re looking into it. Meanwhile, they’re not doing a damn thing, aside from giving him the runaround.”
“How many people know where she is right now?”
Dillon cocks his head to the side, frowning at me. “Why?”
“Because they’ve hunted her down a few too many times already,” I say. “And the more people who know she’s here, the bigger the chance that one of them leaks that info to her uncle or the MC.”