Read Online The End (New Adult Biker Gang Romance) (Night Horses MC Book 7) by Sarah Sorana - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Sarah Sorana
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building I’d been held in when I was kidnapped, but the same general idea. Catalina had told them where it was before she took Lupe and headed out.
Some seedy-ass cover business in the crappy side of town.
This one was a used tire shop and self-storage business.
Kind of genius, actually, they could store their illegal crap and pretend it was a client who never showed back up.
Long lines of warehouses, though, were not comforting.
My mind was finally wandering.
For a minute, I thought I’d gone crazy.
Why did I feel like I was back in my old bedroom as a kid, curled up with Bear - who was strictly not allowed on the furniture - on my bed?
My father’s car.
I could hear it.
It was the familiar engine I’d been hearing for years. What the hell reason did he have to be on this side of town? He was at work.
At his job.
With the boss my mother had complained about never meeting.
No holiday parties, no company picnics.
My father went to work, came back home, got a paycheck every two weeks. Sometimes he had to work late to deal with the books.
Oh my fucking God.
It all fit.
It was my father.
The last man on this planet that I wanted to suspect.
It was the only way this all made sense.
Merle had said that the heroin trade picked up about three years ago.
My father spent two years unemployed when I was in middle school, but three years ago, he found a new job. A great job.
It was longer hours than he’d ever worked, but almost twice the money of the other jobs he’d had.
“They really knew how to value an accountant,” my father said a few times, smiling at his own private joke.
The sound of the engine grew louder.
My horror mounted.
They didn’t know. Merle. Jackson. Alex. They didn’t know.
I had their numbers, and I texted all of them immediately, frantically, but I knew better than to expect them to answer.
I waited a few agonizing seconds, listening as my father’s car made a loop around one of the buildings, ducked down in my car so he couldn’t see me.
When the sound of the engine faded, I knew I had only a few seconds. I didn’t know if he’d Seen the car I was in… but I couldn’t risk it.
I grabbed the gun and slipped it into my pocket, checking the safety first. It was a tiny gun, so small I thought it might be a toy when I first saw it… but Jackson had calmly told him that it would kill a man, or at least make him hurt bad enough for me to get away.
I needed that.
I had the gun. I had my phone.
I popped up and glanced around. No one in sight. From what Merle’d said, people in this neighborhood know when to avoid certain places.
Now was one of those times.
I got out of the car, slipping the key into my jeans pocket - not where I had the gun - and following the guys into the enemy’s lair.
I knew better than to get out my gun and walk with it super obvious.
I hoped I’d never have to use it.
I was glad I had it, though. The comforting cool weight of it in my pocket reassured me. I had a secret weapon - literally, as Jackson would say, rolling his eyes.
The room was almost deserted. A metal desk in one corner, an uncomfortable chair behind it. A computer so old that no one could possibly want to steal it.
A potted plant. A filing cabinet. A layer of dust.
This was not an inviting room.
No problem for me, though. I heard Merle’s voice coming from down a hallway.
I crept softly down it, hoping not to run into anyone before I found Merle. Or Alex. Or Jackson.
“- not asking. I’m telling. Tell me who your pusher is. The one who organizes all of this. I want their name,” Merle was saying.
I tiptoed closer, hoping that it wasn’t el Jefe. It wasn’t, it was another Latino man, one I’d never met.
The man was shaking his head. Jackson and Alex were standing on either side of
Some seedy-ass cover business in the crappy side of town.
This one was a used tire shop and self-storage business.
Kind of genius, actually, they could store their illegal crap and pretend it was a client who never showed back up.
Long lines of warehouses, though, were not comforting.
My mind was finally wandering.
For a minute, I thought I’d gone crazy.
Why did I feel like I was back in my old bedroom as a kid, curled up with Bear - who was strictly not allowed on the furniture - on my bed?
My father’s car.
I could hear it.
It was the familiar engine I’d been hearing for years. What the hell reason did he have to be on this side of town? He was at work.
At his job.
With the boss my mother had complained about never meeting.
No holiday parties, no company picnics.
My father went to work, came back home, got a paycheck every two weeks. Sometimes he had to work late to deal with the books.
Oh my fucking God.
It all fit.
It was my father.
The last man on this planet that I wanted to suspect.
It was the only way this all made sense.
Merle had said that the heroin trade picked up about three years ago.
My father spent two years unemployed when I was in middle school, but three years ago, he found a new job. A great job.
It was longer hours than he’d ever worked, but almost twice the money of the other jobs he’d had.
“They really knew how to value an accountant,” my father said a few times, smiling at his own private joke.
The sound of the engine grew louder.
My horror mounted.
They didn’t know. Merle. Jackson. Alex. They didn’t know.
I had their numbers, and I texted all of them immediately, frantically, but I knew better than to expect them to answer.
I waited a few agonizing seconds, listening as my father’s car made a loop around one of the buildings, ducked down in my car so he couldn’t see me.
When the sound of the engine faded, I knew I had only a few seconds. I didn’t know if he’d Seen the car I was in… but I couldn’t risk it.
I grabbed the gun and slipped it into my pocket, checking the safety first. It was a tiny gun, so small I thought it might be a toy when I first saw it… but Jackson had calmly told him that it would kill a man, or at least make him hurt bad enough for me to get away.
I needed that.
I had the gun. I had my phone.
I popped up and glanced around. No one in sight. From what Merle’d said, people in this neighborhood know when to avoid certain places.
Now was one of those times.
I got out of the car, slipping the key into my jeans pocket - not where I had the gun - and following the guys into the enemy’s lair.
I knew better than to get out my gun and walk with it super obvious.
I hoped I’d never have to use it.
I was glad I had it, though. The comforting cool weight of it in my pocket reassured me. I had a secret weapon - literally, as Jackson would say, rolling his eyes.
The room was almost deserted. A metal desk in one corner, an uncomfortable chair behind it. A computer so old that no one could possibly want to steal it.
A potted plant. A filing cabinet. A layer of dust.
This was not an inviting room.
No problem for me, though. I heard Merle’s voice coming from down a hallway.
I crept softly down it, hoping not to run into anyone before I found Merle. Or Alex. Or Jackson.
“- not asking. I’m telling. Tell me who your pusher is. The one who organizes all of this. I want their name,” Merle was saying.
I tiptoed closer, hoping that it wasn’t el Jefe. It wasn’t, it was another Latino man, one I’d never met.
The man was shaking his head. Jackson and Alex were standing on either side of
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