Hard Time – Logan Ryles

I grabbed him by the arm and held him down, still looking through the binoculars. “Wait a moment…let’s see what they do.” We didn’t have to wait long. The front doors popped open and two men got out, both dressed in boots, jeans, and black jackets. They left the doors open and the engine running as one jogged toward the warehouse and the other stepped toward the flames.

The guy nearest our position spoke into a cell phone—the guy at the warehouse door drew a sidearm and clicked on a light, holding the first over the second, like a cop. But he wasn’t a cop. I recognized the bullet hole in the Alfa’s front bumper, the gleam of its brand-new windshield. It was the same late-model SUV that had chased us through the Bronx and into Manhattan earlier that day. “You recognize either of them?”

I extended the binos to Hagan. He swept one face, then the second. He hesitated. “The guy at the dock is called Fern—short for Fernando, I guess. He’s the boss’s cousin.” “Your boss?” “Right. Or so they said. He came around sometimes. I didn’t pay him much attention.” “Then he’s overdue for a little correction. I’ll take the guy at the fire. Meet back at the Alfa before the hose draggers arrive.”

Hagan squinted. “Fire department,” I clarified. “Go.” He broke left. I rose from the shadows and jogged easily through the dead grass, boots crunching gray snow as my heartbeat rose. I had the APX in my jacket pocket, but I didn’t really want to use it. Unsuppressed, the shot would carry straight across the Upper Bay.

With the NYFD rolling in and who knew how many locals craning their heads toward the sound of that exploding diesel tank, I didn’t want to add gunshots to the mix. As it turned out, I didn’t need to. I closed to within ten feet of the guy, the rush of the fire masking my crunching boot steps and the dance of the flames keeping my shadow behind me.

He held the phone to his ear and spoke in Italian, short and clipped sentences. He spat sideways and twisted toward the dock to shout at Fern—Hagan had just reached the dock and my guy saw him. But he never got a word out. I hit him from behind, a boot to his right leg that shattered his ankle and sent him toppling, the phone falling. He went sideways and I swept an arm around his neck just as the first note of a scream burst from his throat.

The sound died in place.

HARD TIME is a work of fiction. People, places, events, and situations are the product of the author’s imagination. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead is entirely coincidental. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in any retrieval system, or transmitted by any means without the prior written permission of the publisher. OceanofPDF.com CONTENTS Inkubator Books Chapter 1 Chapter 2 Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5 Chapter 6 Chapter 7 Chapter 8 Chapter 9 Chapter 10 Chapter 11 Chapter 12 Chapter 13 Chapter 14 Chapter 15 Chapter 16 Chapter 17 Chapter 18 Chapter 19 Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Chapter 22 Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Chapter 25 Chapter 26 Chapter 27 Chapter 28 Chapter 29 Chapter 30 Chapter 31 Chapter 32 Chapter 33 Chapter 34 Chapter 35 Chapter 36 Chapter 37 Chapter 38 Chapter 39 Chapter 40 Chapter 41 Chapter 42 Chapter 43 Chapter 44 Chapter 45 Chapter 46 Chapter 47 Chapter 48 Chapter 49 Chapter 50 Chapter 51 Chapter 52 Chapter 53 Chapter 54 Chapter 55 Chapter 56 Chapter 57 Chapter 58 Chapter 59 Chapter 60 Chapter 61 FREE BOOK About the Author Inkubator Newsletter Also by Logan Ryles OceanofPDF.com For Isaac – Regarding that thing in the desert with your motorcycle…

Sorry, still not sorry. Shiny side up, brother! OceanofPDF.com JOIN THE INKUBATOR MAILING LIST You will be the first to learn about new releases plus the many FREE and discounted Kindle books we offer! bit.ly/3tpZe28 OceanofPDF.com I 1 stopped because I didn’t have a reason not to—and also, because it was cold. Not cold like Phoenix could get sometimes in the winter in the dead of a desert night.

The cold of Upstate New York in January, only miles from the Canadian border, was another beast altogether. Bitter, biting, and lethal. It left snow drifts heaped against red spruce trees and choking the ditches of roads only seldom plowed. A sky perpetually overcast emitted barely enough light for me to drive with my headlights off. It was ten degrees, and the heater of my ‘67 GMC pickup barely competed with the numbness creeping through my boots and up my legs.

I wore a jacket, a hat, even gloves—I was still uncomfortable.

This is a short excerpt from the opening of “” by Unknown, quoted for review and introduction purposes. All rights belong to the copyright holders.

Book Information

• Unique ID: 4735b1c813b099ee
• File Extension: .pdf
• File Size: 2,620,957 bytes (2.5 MB)
• Title: –
• Author: Unknown
• ISBN: 9781837567034, 9781837567041, 9781837567058
• Pages: 246
• Language: English (en)

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• Estimated Reading Time: 348.95 minutes
• Total Words: 69,791
• Total Characters: 390,199
• Average Words per Page: 283.7
• Average Characters per Page: 1586.17

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