“Good. I’ll see you there. Don’t go in without me.”
Ryder cuts the call, dialsArthur, and goes to let Bianca know we’re leaving.
I should be furious that Vaughn just waltzed into our backyard like there’s no death sentence hanging over his head, but all I can think about is Leilani.
My fingers flex around my glass.
Well... if I can’t tear Jax apart yet, maybe catching Vaughn will calm the storm inside me. Maybe Carter won’t mind if I break a few bones.
Adrenaline floods my cells, and the bloodthirsty part of my otherwise laid-back personality rears its head.
Good. I need a distraction.
Ever since we found out Vaughn was behind everything that happened to Hailey, I’ve wanted to skin him alive.
Purely as a courtesy to my boss, of course.
That animosity grew when his actions threatened Violet, and then hit an all-time high after Bianca came clean about his inappropriate behavior around her.
If Carter doesn’t kill the guy, I just might.
I’m not in a merciful mood. Haven’t been for a week. Killing Vaughn would take the edge off, make me feel like I’m not sitting around doing fuck all while Jax has the girl who makes my head spin.
Too bad it’s wishful thinking.
No matter how much Carter wants Vaughn gone, he won’t give the order. It would hurt Hailey, and that’s one thing my boss won’t suffer: being the reason for her tears.
Not again.Neveragain.
Here’s hoping the ex-cop will pull a gun on Carter... providing a viable excuse to put him down.
“Ready?” Ryder comes back, dressed all in black.
“Yeah, let’s catch a bad cop.”
2
Koby
My head’s pounding a relentless, brutal rhythm.
I blame the eleven whiskeys—or was it twelve?
Or it could be down to the dead cop’s brain matter splattered across Ryder’s condo.
Not that blame distribution helps.
It was an eventful night.
Alcohol isn’t the only culprit. There’s also the worry chewing through me. The nerves that didn’t even settle when Vaughn pulled the trigger.
Hangovers I can handle. What I can’t handle is Leilani’s face pulsing in my head, somehow eclipsing the headache.
I peel my eyes open, squinting against the sunlight pouring through the windows. I didn’t close the drapes last night. Correction: thismorning, when I crawled into bed at seven. My body gave up before drawing them shut occurred to me.
My thick, dry tongue sticks to the roof of my mouth and every swallow scrapes raw. My muscles ache as if I spent the night in a boxing ring rather than cleaning up Vaughn’s mess.
The clock reads just past noon. Five hours. Five fucking hours is all the rest I got. Well,sleep, becauseI don’t feel rested at all. In fact, I feel worse than before this short nap. No wonder my skull isn’t far from splitting. No wonder my stomach curls, threatening to eat my spine.
