Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74971 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 375(@200wpm)___ 300(@250wpm)___ 250(@300wpm)
“Shit,” Sway said, wincing.
“Yeah. Figure he’s going to want to get her out eventually. He’s gonna need stability to do that. Plus the interest in bikes… seems like it could be a good fit. Figure I might send you and Coach to talk to him when he’s released,” Slash said.
Coach, I imagined, because he was somewhat recently released from prison himself. And Sway because he was the friendliest of the bikers, the most laid-back and easy to connect with.
“Should you be adding someone as a possibly permanent member of the club just because he can help with my case?” I asked.
“It’s not just you,” Slash said, shrugging. “Every club can really use someone who is good with technology. The guys in Navesink Bank have three or four people who do this kind of shit. The club in Golden Glades has a guy too. It’s always a good idea to stock your club with people who have particular skill sets.”
That made sense.
I guess if I were to have an organization of my own, I would choose people based on what they had to offer the club as a whole too.
“What about that guy?” I asked, pointing at the picture of the big, bearded guy.
“Former military,” Slash said. “Special ops type shit. Always someone you want on your side.”
“What’s he in for?” I asked.
“Another assault case. While he was away, his best friend moved in on his wife. He… wasn’t happy about it. Divorced the wife, beat the shit out of the friend.”
“I’m assuming anger problems are kind of a tick in the pro column here,” I said.
“Can’t be a biker if you’re afraid to throw a punch,” Slash said, shrugging.
That was true.
I was having a bit of a hard time imagining Sway swinging, though. The man was just so… laid-back, easy-going, almost unflappable. Still, he must have been capable if he was part of this organization. And he did seem to be very comfortable with a gun in his hand.
“Just tell me the time and date, and I will see if I can get him to agree to prospect,” Sway said, nodding as I refilled my coffee. “You going back to work?” he asked.
“Yeah,” I agreed, hearing the sigh in my own voice, so I knew he heard it too.
I was only maybe twenty minutes back at work when I heard footsteps on the stairs.
The freight elevator came up to this floor, but the guys had blocked off the area with all their random renovating shit from finishing the floors below. Paint cans and ladders, spare wood, tile, and tools.
This floor wasn’t exactly unfinished. It was a usable space in a very factory sort of way. Cement floors, exposed walls. But the air was cranking enough to keep it comfortable, and I was only mildly concerned about the scratching sounds from a back corner under a pile of old furniture and boxes.
Rats?
Squirrels?
Raccoons?
Who knew.
They were leaving me alone, so that was all that mattered.
I had two long, sturdy wooden desks that the guys had build to use for projects set up in an L-shape with various boxes full of various crap I was going to need to build the guns that Coach had salvaged from local shops and junkyards.
I had everything I needed. And I had already built two guns past the point I was currently at, so it’s not like I was struggling with the design.
I was just… burnt out.
Unable to think straight.
Wanting to go back downstairs and hang out in the living room, smelling whatever Detroit was cooking, watching Sway’s terrible TV shows, enjoying the comings and goings of everyone, the comfortable familiarity, the feeling of community and family.
I was an outsider.
But I still liked being a part of it all, experiencing something I’d never had before, that I wouldn’t have even known to desire.
“Figured you might need a refill,” Sway said, moving into the room with an iced coffee in his hand. “Seems like shit isn’t going to plan,” he said, placing it down at the far end of the desk, away from the stuff I had in front of me.
“I can’t focus,” I admitted, feeling some of the weight fall away immediately. “There’s no good reason for it, but I just can’t.”
“I’m figuring that’s a new thing for you, huh?” Sway asked, coming over to drop his ass at the edge of the desk only a foot or so away from me.
I swear the air charged with his nearness. Little currents that had my skin prickling.
“I’ve never lacked concentration before. If anything, the opposite is the case. I focus so much that I don’t eat or drink or sleep for long stretches of time.”
“Just gonna throw this out there,” Sway said, tucking his chin to his chest to catch my gaze. “Maybe that’s because you never had anything else going on before.”