Total pages in book: 117
Estimated words: 109523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109523 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 548(@200wpm)___ 438(@250wpm)___ 365(@300wpm)
Rowe had left an hour earlier after receiving a frantic call about a terrorist mouse. Both Snow and Lucas heard Melissa’s screams coupled with barking dogs. Rowe had two Rottweilers and a German shepherd. If they were attempting to chase down the mouse, the house was getting trashed in the process—which had to be why Rowe’s wife screamed. Lucas couldn’t see that woman felled by a mouse. Three huge dogs bent on destruction? Oh yeah.
Both Lucas and Snow were wiping away tears, gasping for air between laughing fits, while Rowe scurried out of the club, cursing his friends, the dogs, too many drinks, and Mickey Mouse.
Apparently, Snow had mostly needed the calming influence of his friends because he seemed content to drink and relax most of the night. Man after man hit on him, but he stayed put, talking to Lucas about nothing important. Lucas had been sure that Snow would be crashing in his guest room until a tall, muscular man with a crooked grin finally caught the surgeon’s attention.
Lucas had been left with the tab. He’d had his share of flirts while seated with Rowe and Snow, but brushed them off. A nice, hard fuck would have been nice and if Snow hadn’t stormed into Shiver, he might have been in the mood to try harder with the man on the dance floor. But Snow’s mental state proved effective at killing his libido—and it hadn’t been the first time that had happened.
Pushing away from the wall, he cursed himself for releasing his driver after they were dropped at the bar. Drinking with Rowe and Snow was always a late affair and grabbing a cab hadn’t seemed like such a hassle. But now that he walked alone on the sidewalk, exhausted and buzzed, he wished he could slide into his own car and confidently doze in the backseat as someone else drove.
Lucas paused while reaching for his cell phone when he noticed a large man in a dark hoodie walking toward him. His lowered head hid his face, but something in his gait sent alarm bells off in Lucas’s head. Flexing his hands at his side, Lucas tried to relax his body when he heard two more sets of footsteps approaching him from behind. He started to turn but it was already too late.
The two behind him swept in from either side, hooking their arms through his while the first man stepped up and delivered a hard shovel hook to Lucas’s solar plexus. All the air left his lungs in a rush as his feet came off the ground. A flash of pain radiated through his chest and Lucas gasped for breath as the two men grasping his arms dragged him into a nearby alley.
They slammed him against the rough brick wall, pinning his shoulders while the first man stepped in front of him. His face was hidden in shadow. The smell of beer and stale cigarettes buffeted to him, momentarily overwhelming the odor of rotten garbage that filled the narrow alley.
“You should have stayed out of Price Hill,” the man drawled in a thick southern accent. “Now I don’t know if you’ll have a chance to sell it and save your ass.”
A chill bit Lucas, pushing aside confusion and the last tendrils of his buzz. This hillbilly had been sent by the same asshole who’d threatened him two weeks earlier over a plot of land he’d purchased on the outskirts of downtown. So much for it being a simple mugging. No, these fuckers were out for blood, if not more.
Survival instincts kicked in and years of close-quarter-combat training took over. Pressing his weight against the wall, Lucas gritted his teeth and kicked out, aiming for the man’s knee. His howl was loud enough to hear over the music pouring from the club. He barely had time to stagger back before Lucas kicked again. This time, hitting his chest and knocking him to the ground.
Lucas brought his right foot down hard on the instep of the man on his right. The assailant grunted and released Lucas’s arm, stumbling backward. Spinning to the left, Lucas slammed an elbow across the bridge of the third guy’s nose. Bone broke, blood sprayed, and the man screamed and cursed as his head banged against the wall.
Immediately backpedaling, Lucas was careful to keep all three men in front of him. His heart raced. He needed to incapacitate each man as quickly as possible or he didn’t stand a fucking chance. The man with the injured instep bounced back first. In a traditional boxer’s south paw stance, his lead hook caught Lucas clean on the jaw, jerking his head to the side. Lucas dropped back, putting a little more space between them. Pain seared the side of his face. He sidestepped the attacker’s cross and passed the next punch, putting him in the perfect position to land a side kick to the man’s knee. A pained cry echoed through the night as he crumbled to the broken wet pavement. Lucas delivered a final brutal overhead punch to the man’s temple, knocking him out cold.