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Epilogue Two
“Where are you headedin such a hurry?” Wraith asked, leaning against the side of the building as I exited the Crossroads. He was puffing away on one of his cigars and seemed relaxed in a way I’d never seen in all the years that I’d known him.
“Gonna surprise Nylah. With Rattler taken care of and the Russians on the run, I figure it’s as good a time as any to take her for a long ride and then fuck her on my bike again.”
Wraith sputtered and then nearly choked. “You ever tired of shocking people?”
“Nope. It’s a favorite of mine.”
“You’re crazy.”
I shrugged, not caring in the least. “So everyone keeps sayin’ but I don’t see the issue. Neither does my ol’ lady.”
“True enough,” he agreed with a chuckle.
“See ya, brother.”
Ten minutes later I was pulling into the parking lot of the urgent care in Tonopah, excited as fuck to surprise my girl and get one of her sweet kisses. She’d fucked me good this morning and my dick wanted a repeat session as soon as possible. I wasn’t joking about riding her on my bike in more ways than one. Nylah was a freak in the sheets. Sweet nurse by day and hot temptress at night.
All fucking mine.
I was on my way inside before I noticed that her car was parked only a few rows down and the driver’s side door was ajar. That was weird. Did someone try to break into it and steal something?
My Reaper immediately reacted and I marched over, pissed that someone would mess with Nylah’s vehicle. A red, sticky substance coated the steering wheel, a portion of the leather seat, and dropped onto the inside of the door.
My head tilted back and I let out a wild, primitive roar as I realized she’d been taken and I didn’t have any idea how long she’d been gone. All fucking day her phone had gone to voicemail and I thought she was busy in clinic. Now, I wasn’t so sure.
My heart clenched like a fist and I saw flashes of light in my peripheral as rage consumed me.
Someone hurt my ol’ lady. They took my Nylah.
And I would hunt them down without mercy.
Sirens blared as multiple cop cars suddenly pulled into the lot. Sheriff Tucker’s vehicle screeched to a halt only a few feet away as he opened the door and pointed his gun at my head.
“Put your hands up, Ian Braxton,” he ordered, a triumphant sneer settling over his face.
In all the chaos of the last two days, we’d forgotten a critical detail: the sheriff in Tonopah was on Resnikov’s payroll and all hell had literally broken loose.
