Wire: Wrong #3 by LP Lovell & Stevie J Cole

Author:LP Lovell & Stevie J Cole [Lovell, LP]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Published: 2017-05-21T18:30:00+00:00

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The shitty little plane hits the shitty little runway hard and my water spills in my lap. A few minutes later and I'm walking down the stairs of the private jet. A black Hummer is parked to the side of the runway with the engine running. A tall man in a gray suit steps out from the driver's side. Tattoos cover the side of his neck. "Corredar de apuestas," he says with a laugh as he approaches. "The bookie."

I glare at him. Handing yourself over to death so easily is a shit feeling, but I would do anything for my daughter. I had two years of freedom I never deserved. For two years, I was able to hold her, love her, and Tor…Death comes for us all at some point, I accepted that long ago, but it still fucking sucks.

"Arms up," he says as he stops in front of me, the heavy scent of his cologne assaulting my nose. I raise my arms and he pats me down, snatching the gun from my waist with a smirk. "Really?" he asks, shrugging.

He grabs me by the arm and yanks me forward, and I follow him toward the car. The closer we get I can make out another man sitting in the backseat. When we’re just a few feet away, he throws open the door and steps out, and the guy escorting me shoves me inside. Groaning, I lean against the leather seat while the fucking Neanderthal climbs in beside me and slams the door.

"Jesús is gonna be real happy, mi amigo," the driver says as he puts the car in drive and slowly pulls off. He turns the radio up and some Mexican rap music blares through the speakers, rattling the tinted windows. I watch the little Mexican flag strung from the rearview mirror waver. We barrel down the dirt road, down along a hillside, past rundown buildings covered in graffiti. When we stop at a traffic light the driver turns in his seat and smirks.

"What the fuck, ese?" the guy next to me groans.

He remains silent as he pulls a gloc from his lap and aims into the backseat. My heart pounds, and before I can form a rational thought—Bam.

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