Hustler (Masters of Manhattan Book 2) by Jane Henry & Maisy Archer

Author:Jane Henry & Maisy Archer [Henry, Jane]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2018-04-17T16:00:00+00:00

Weary from the sun beating down on me, I slumped my way back to my cell. Any minute now, I’d get the word and be able to walk, if Walker’s magic had worked. The names Luis had given me ran through my brain without ceasing. I’d engraved them into my memory, ready to give them to Walk in a debrief when I got out of here.

I’d also told Luis he needed to make Haven his attorney of record immediately. The only way I’d be able to communicate with him back and forth would be through her. I’d told him my first goal was to find the evidence to get him set free through the courts. But if that wouldn’t be possible, we’d also set up a contingency plan to get him out.

And shit, I needed to get the fuck out of here as badly as he did. I needed a shower in my own private bathroom, to wash away everything I remembered, everything I knew, and replace it with… what?

Haven.

Would I be able to make her mine when I got out of here?

Fuck. I had a new purpose in life.

So wrapped up in thoughts of my future with Haven, and ready to get the fuck out of this place, I almost missed the big, hulking form that blocked my path. What the hell?

It took me a minute to realize this was the same man I’d run into the night before. He stepped in front of me, stuck his foot in the cell, grabbed me around the waist, yanked me in, and pulled the cell door shut behind him.

Fuck.

The cell was so tight he couldn’t swing, but his knee slammed into my groin, then his elbow hit my rib cage. Red hot pain shot through me as I fell to the floor, and as I did, I would almost swear I saw the guard, Hunter out in the hall. “Hey!” I yelled, before turning my attention was yanked back to the man in my cell. He loomed over me, and my stomach rolled with the knowledge that there was nowhere to go. My mind conjured up the image of Eli, right here in this fucking dismal place, succumbing to the same realization.

“You son of a bitch,” I hissed, knocking him back harder than I thought possible. He crashed into the bunk with a dull thud and scream of rage, then lunged at me, bending my whole frame toward his. His knee caught my groin so hard I saw literal stars as I doubled over in pain. Winded and immobilized, I wheezed for air as his foot struck my back with a dull, aching thump. He lifted my body and cracked my head against the cold concrete. Everything went black.

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