Total pages in book: 36
Estimated words: 34426 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 34426 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 172(@200wpm)___ 138(@250wpm)___ 115(@300wpm)
“Here you go, sir,” she said, setting it down with a smile that no longer sparkled. “Anything else I can get for you?”
He tilted his head. “Need help with that?” he asked, jutting his chin toward the table of fucksticks.
Her eyes widened. “W-what?”
He didn’t bother repeating himself, just raised an eyebrow.
“Oh, God, no,” she said in a strangled whisper, shaking her head. “It-it’s fine. I’m fine.” A fake-as-fuck smile curled her lips as she shrugged. “Sometimes the guys in here get a little handsy. Part of the job, unfortunately.”
“Bullshit,” he muttered.
Her jaw dropped. “What?”
He shook his head and lifted his beer. “Thanks.” He’d be sure to leave a whopper of a tip.
“Um… okay, I’ll check on you again soon but feel free to wave me down if you need something.” After nodding his way, she was off, collecting empties and putting up with another round of grab-ass.
Moose gripped his beer with so much force it was a wonder the bottle didn’t shatter in his palm. If it had, he’d be tempted to use the broken glass to slash some throats.
One of the men said something to Daisy that had her paling and shaking her head so fast the big clip holding her hair in place dislodged. The fucker sneered and said something else before she scurried off into the kitchen while trying to fix her hair.
Someone needed to take these fuckers down a few notches, and Moose would love to be the one to do it.
With a grunt, he sipped his beer and then shook his head. What the fuck was wrong with him? He did not get involved in other people’s shit. Rescuing damsels in distress wasn’t his style. Never once had anyone called him a Good Samaritan. Daisy might be young, but she was a grown woman. It wasn’t his place to step in and manage any part of her life, but if he stuck around the shithole diner any longer, he’d do just that.
Time to go.
He dug two fifties from his wallet and tossed them on the table. They’d more than cover his burger and the few beers he’d consumed. The rest could line Daisy’s pocket. She deserved ten times that for putting up with the shit she did tonight.
As he stood, he couldn’t stop himself from stretching and making a show of it. The drunks at the table needed a little reminder that they weren’t the biggest or baddest in the house. One of the guy’s eyes widened as he swallowed. Moose couldn’t resist blowing him a kiss.
His face immediately fell into a disgusted scowl.
It looked like he could add homophobe to the man’s list of faults. He’d probably need an entire ream of paper to list them all.
Time to take a leak, then amble over to the motel. In the morning, he planned to ride out of town. He was due in Texas for a Road Villians Motorcycle Club commitment in a week and planned to take his time getting there, perhaps finding a few jobs along the way so he’d have some extra cash when he arrived. Snagging work never posed a problem. No matter where he went, construction or handyman jobs were always available and often paid cash, just as he liked it. In larger cities, he tended to pick up shifts as a bouncer, which were often surprisingly lucrative. Every few months, he’d spend a night or two at one of his club’s locations to keep up with business and stay connected on the periphery.
It was a good life, at least from his perspective.
He pushed the bathroom door open. Too damn bad he didn’t travel with a hazmat suit. Fuck, it was nasty. After years on the road, he was used to filthy bathrooms and lumpy beds, but it wasn’t the favorite part of his lifestyle.
Once he’d drained the beer from his bladder, he was ready to call it a night. As a sucker for a good true crime thriller, he planned to stream the latest trending release. A true crime junkie through and through, he never missed a documentary and had a host of podcasts he listened to while riding the open road.
Moose made his way back through the restaurant. It took less than two seconds to notice the change in the room’s energy. The low hum of a man chatting on his phone and clinking utensils on plates replaced the obnoxious drivel of drunk bastards. It seemed they’d moved on to greener pastures. Good news for Daisy.
He sauntered outside and started across the quiet parking lot, heading toward the motel. At ten o’clock, the rural Georgia truck stop only had a few semis docked for the night, but more should roll in over the next hour or so. Moose inhaled the moderately fresh air. A faint hint of diesel tickled his nose. That smell probably never left with how many trucks came and went all day.