Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 73043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73043 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Trace snorted. “Don’t marry the chick.”
I wouldn’t be marrying the chick. What I would be doing, however, was getting in there so I could learn more about whatever mess her father had gotten himself into. Then, when I had enough, I’d blow this fucking town sky-fucking-high.
***
The meeting with Trace ran late, and by the time I arrived in Kilgore to speak with the men of Free, they weren’t happy with me.
Six months ago, when they heard I was heading to Hostel, I was tasked to do a little research, and what I’d found while I was down there had been quite enlightening.
Now I was there to educate the men of Free with exactly what they’d been sending their birds into, and I was not looking forward to it. I just wanted to get this shit over with. Yesterday.
Which was why, when I arrived on my bike and tried to input the code, I didn’t bother trying to call anybody.
I did, however, climb the fuckin’ fence.
It was ten feet tall and covered in razor wire at the top, but being who I was, and what I did for a living, I’d learned to circumvent that little deterrent a long time ago.
Arriving on the other side unscathed, I started walking up the main lane, not surprised when a man came out of the garage—which was in the front of the compound—moments later.
“You couldn’t call?” Max, one of the men of Free, asked.
I shrugged.
“Could’ve.” I muttered. “But I also wanted to fucking get this over with, and not wait for one of you lazy assholes to let me in. I’m not all that fond of waiting twenty minutes for one of y’all to decide I’ve waited long enough and take pity on me.”
Max grinned. “How do you know we’re not busy?”
I gestured to him. “You wouldn’t have answered my breach as fast as you did if you were busy. I know damn well y’all always have someone monitoring. And you damn well know that at any given time, you have fifteen people here that can press a goddamn button and let me in.”
Max shrugged. “Maybe we do, maybe we don’t.”
They did.
I knew what they had. I’d gone through it within a day of coming here the first time. Each house had access to the gate via a button, and most of them had at least two. They also had monitors that activated the moment that any movement was sensed.
So, no, I knew damn well that they all knew I was there. I also knew damn well that any of them could’ve let me in at any given goddamn time.
But, like I’d told him, I didn’t have the time nor the inclination to wait while they made their fucking power plays.
I kept walking and Max fell into step beside me. A red rag appeared in his hand moments later as he wiped grease free from his hands.
“You’re late,” he said.
I shrugged. “Wreck on the interstate.”
Which wasn’t technically a lie. I just hadn’t taken the interstate. I’d taken the back way, which also added five minutes to my commute. However, there were fewer people, which also meant my patience wouldn’t be even thinner than it already was when I arrived for the meeting.
I knew I’d need to have all the patience I could muster when it came to dealing with these fuckers.
Then there was Janie.
“You suggested this meeting. Is it bad?”
“Yeah.”
There was no reason to beat around the bush.
“Fuck,” Max hissed. “Knew it.”
I didn’t make meetings with these fuckers unless I had to. I usually tried to spend time with people who generally liked me as a person. These men…they didn’t.
They tolerated me, which was more than enough for the business we had together.
We remained silent the rest of the walk to the epicenter of the compound, which was where all their offices were held, as well as conference rooms, barracks for refugees, and the one thing that my heart wanted more than anything else.
Her.
Janie.
Speaking of the devil, she was running at us from another direction, her two dogs at her heels.
She was laughing, not paying attention to what was in front of her, and I swallowed at the joy that was written all over her face.
Or, it might’ve been the fucking pants she was wearing. If they could be called pants.
Really, they looked like fucking paint with how tight they were molded to her ass and thighs. And the billowy whatever-the-fuck-it-was that was supposed to be a shirt that she was wearing was thin as fuck, too. I could see her bra through it. Barely, but I could see it.
My dick started to harden, and I started to do multiplication tables in my head. When those didn’t work, I started to take the square root of the numbers that I multiplied.
And yes, before you say, “That’s not possible!” It was for me.