Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“What flavor?”
I study the sign over the register. “Cherry cheesecake.”
“Good choice,” the guy I’m assuming is Jake says with a grin. “Your usual, Mack?”
“You know it.”
“What’s your usual?” I ask as we wait on the order.
“PB&J.”
It doesn’t take long before we have our food, and Mack carries it outside on a tray so we can eat at a picnic table under an umbrella. I wrap my lips around the extra wide straw and suck. It takes a second before the milkshake starts flowing, but when the flavor hits my tongue, I groan. “Oh that’s so good.”
Mack makes a slightly strangled noise in his throat. “Glad to hear it.”
“So…” I pick up an onion ring and break it in half, eating the soft bit of onion before dipping the salty, fried breading in ketchup and eating that on its own. “Where should I start?”
“How about at the beginning?”
This time it’s my turn to watch him, and the sight of his tongue licking hot sauce off his thumb almost makes me forget what we’re here to talk about.
“Mila, who’s Mullerby?” Mack prompts. “I heard your roommate say you were going to meet him and it didn’t sound like a fucking date.”
“It’s a little complicated.” I sigh, trying to figure out where to start and still not sure I want to spill all the details just to have someone else tell me to drop my investigation. “I have an older brother, Danny. He’s been in prison for the past six years.”
“What’d he go down for?” Mack asks, curious but not judgmental.
It’s nice to talk to someone who doesn’t react like I just said I’m related to a serial killer. “He was nineteen when he got busted at an underground rave for selling weed and E. My parents were exhausted and refused to help him. I think we all assumed he would get a couple years and Mom and Dad hoped it would help scare him straight.”
Mack shakes his head, frowning. “Fucking system swallows kids like that whole, does jack shit to help them, and then spits them back out with no skills and a bunch of new friends who are just as fucked.”
“You sound like you know from experience.”
“Because I do.” He puts down his burger with a sigh. “I was an angry fucking kid, Mila. I’m thankful every goddamn day that I was young enough that I got thrown into a program for at-risk teens instead of prison. My mentor was in the Screaming Eagles. If it wasn’t for Zero, I’d be doing time right now, but that old bastard kept my head above water long enough for my brain to fucking mature. He took one look at me and knew I was never going to fit into the productive citizen box, but that didn’t mean I wasn’t worth it. So yeah, I’ve seen what the system does to people who just need a fucking chance, and it’s usually not pretty.”
I nod. “You’re right, but for Danny it was even worse. While he was waiting on his trial, they suddenly accused him of a whole bunch of other stuff, worse stuff like armed robbery. Danny begged our parents to hire a real attorney, but they refused and instead of a couple of years, suddenly he was saddled with thirty-eight. By the time they realized it had really happened, it was too late. He was sentenced and put away. Mullerby was his court appointed defender.”
“Jesus Christ. You were what? Sixteen?”
“Fifteen. I couldn’t help him back then, but something about it always felt wrong to me. I’ve never believed Danny was guilty of all those things and now I can finally maybe find out what happened.”
I walk him through my plans, how Meghan got me the flash drive and how I’m using my senior journalism project to see if I can get some clues into what’s going on at City Hall. I let him listen to my interview with Mullerby, and then show him the message that led to my attack. Somewhere between kissing me silly after class and feeding me, I seem to have forgotten to hold anything back. It’s actually a little annoying because I’m supposed to be the one that’s good at interrogation.
“You should do what Zero did for you,” I suggest. “You’re so easy to talk to.”
He laughs, a deep infectious sound. “I do. I started volunteering there when Zero was still around to help him out. I’ve got a fucking social work degree, baby.”
My jaw drops.
“What? You think we all sit around bikering for a living? Being a member means always having the club and your brothers at your back, and my first loyalty is to Eagle-eye and the Screaming Eagles, but a lot of us have fucking jobs and families outside the club because we want to. That account? FixerUppers? We’re tearing that shit out because Scrapper’s dad owns a construction company and Scrapper works with him. A lot of the guys do when they need extra cash.”