Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77904 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 390(@200wpm)___ 312(@250wpm)___ 260(@300wpm)
When we walked into the bar, Wrath was standing next to Prez, and they were both glaring at the back door. You could literally feel the tension radiating off them as they waited for our guest to make his way inside. We stepped up beside them, and the silence was deafening as the heavy double door swung open.
Seconds later, a man dressed in a jet-black business suit stepped inside. His dark, piercing eyes scanned the room, and he exuded an aura of menace and authority as he took in every detail of the room. A subtle twitch of his jaw represented a warning that he wasn’t a man to be trifled with.
With every step, his polished leather shoes echoed through the bar, intensifying the tension in the room as he started towards us. His back was straight, his chin was out, and his expression was blank. He wasn’t the least bit shaken that he’d just entered the Satan’s Fury clubhouse and was about to face its president, but I couldn’t say the same for me.
Just being around this dude had me rattled.
Fuck.
This dude was no joke.
He walked straight up to Prez and asked, “You the one in charge?”
“Who the fuck’s asking?”
“I go by many names, but you boys can call me Maltese.”
“Why don’t you tell us why you’re here, Maltese?”
“I simply need to deliver a message.” His face remained void of expression as he said, “My boss is a very busy man, and he is expecting his goods to be delivered as scheduled.”
“What makes you think we know anything about your boss or his fucking goods?”
“Let’s not play games. We are well aware of your ties with Bruton and that you have been making his deliveries. I’m just here to let you know that it’s in your best interest, and ours, that you fulfill your commitments.”
“And how are we supposed to do that without Bruton?”
“Oh, come now.” A sly smile crossed his face. “You fellas have made quite a name for yourselves, and you don’t do that without crossing a line or two.”
“We’ll take care of it.”
“That’s what I wanted to hear.” His eyes skirted over to me and Clutch, then back to Prez. “I won’t waste any more of your time. You boys have a good night.”
Before any of us had a chance for a rebuttal, he turned and walked out of the room. Savage was still glaring at the door as he growled, “Well, fuck.”
“Yeah. My thoughts exactly.”
“How many more of these assholes are gonna show up at our door?”
“One is more than enough.” Prez turned to Savage as he said, “We need to figure out this Sawyer situation, and we need to figure it out now.”
Maggie
“I don’t want to go.”
“I know, but you have to.”
“But why?”
“Because he’s your father, and it’s his weekend.”
“Well, that’s stupid,” Nathan huffed. “I don’t even see why we gotta go. He’s never even there. He’s either hunting or playing golf or off on some work thing, and we’re stuck with his stupid girlfriend.”
“Fiancé.”
“Whatever.” He rolled his eyes. “She sucks... She smells funny and can’t even make a peanut butter and jelly sandwich right.”
“What?”
“She just slaps everything on there. Doesn’t even cut it in half or take off the crust. It’s gross, and so is she.” Nathan sat down at the kitchen table and poured himself a bowl of cereal as he continued, “I don’t want to be there with her, and neither does Sam.”
I understood his frustration. In fact, I felt the same, but there wasn’t much I could do about it. It was Chad’s weekend, and, like it or not, they had to go. It didn’t make it any less frustrating. He rarely spent time with the kids when we were together, but during the divorce, he did his best to portray ‘father of the year’ and pleaded for every other weekend and various holidays and summer break.
I wanted the kids to have a relationship with their father, so I agreed. At the time, I had no way of knowing that he would pawn them off on Crissy—his personal secretary and new girlfriend. It infuriated me, but there was little I could do. The courts had granted him every other weekend, and I had no choice but to comply.
I wished I had some great words of wisdom for my precious son, but there were none to give. “I’m sorry, honey, but there’s not much I can do about that.”
“I wish he’d get hit by a bus.”
“Nathan,” I fussed. “Don’t say things like that.”
“Well, I do.” He gave me a disgruntled shrug. “He’s the worst.”
“Maybe so, but he loves you and wants to spend some time with you.” I feigned a smile as I suggested, “Maybe you could get him to take you shopping, and you could look for a new pair of jeans to replace the ones with the ripped pocket.”