Total pages in book: 142
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132031 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 660(@200wpm)___ 528(@250wpm)___ 440(@300wpm)
Smoke gray… As if karma were pointing Dev in a certain direction.
“All that cleanup’s for pussies. Not real men like you. You’ll be fine,” Dev said distractedly, turning the cameras in different directions of the vehicle to gather several photos.
“So everything you said on Ink Life was bullshit? You spent half your time talkin’ about the importance of keepin’ the fresh ink clean.” His client chuckled as if he were now in on the secret. “Pussies.”
Millie’s normal personality was damn mellow. She went with the flow on everything…generally. But she came around the desk, giving Dev a severe glance. Her pinched-up features said he’d grown another head, and she didn’t like it at all.
She wasn’t wrong. Dev was a slob in every part of his life except with his work. In this shop, he’d feel comfortable eating off the floor with all the cleaning and sanitization he required. He never wanted to be the reason for anyone to leave with an infection. Once they left, it was on them but not from him or based on his advice.
“Do I make an appointment?”
“Nah. Just stop by. I’ll fit you in.” Dev was done with this guy. He went around the reception desk toward the front door of his shop. He pushed it open and decided to go through first, not wanting to be on the tail end of the smell. Stink followed him out. Dev went one way, deeper into the building. Stink went the other direction, toward the rolling warehouse doors of his father’s bike shop. He didn’t look back, only listened to ensure Stink left the main building without pilfering anything from the shop.
“I don’t think you did the right thing,” Millie called out as Dev clomped up the staircase to his mother’s office. He waved her off. She had to know he didn’t do anything willy-nilly in his business.
Now that he’d wiggled in some free time in his day, he had calls to make and lunch to eat before his next client showed.
Chapter 2
Dev banged his way through the bike shop’s office door. His mom, Carly, barely glanced up from her computer screen before saying, “Your hair’s too long. I can schedule you an appointment with my stylist.”
Like every other time he came through the door, it bounced off the doorstop and shot back at him. He balled a fist as he considered finally having a fistfight with the metal to prove who really controlled things around here.
But his mother’s voice acted like a balm to his manic thoughts. The anger he’d been harboring since letting Stink leave eased as quickly as it had built. The racing in his head slowed to a pace lap, about as quiet as they ever got. She always had a way of taming his ass.
He'd never questioned her mysterious abilities. As the longtime wife of the founding member of the Disciples of Havoc motorcycle club, then having Devilman as a son, she should have been walking around in a constant state of high-level anxiety. But she didn’t.
At least with him, his mom was generally cool, calm, and collected and as pretty as ever, both inside and out.
She wouldn’t agree with his last observation though. Carly Fox had taken to aging like a cat dunked in bath water. She fought it tooth and nail. She’d spent thousands of dollars on fillers, facial treatments, personal trainers, and many tiny nips and tucks. She was forty-five years old going on twenty-four.
She also didn’t give a single shit what anyone thought. As badass as she was as a mother, she brought that same attitude to the club’s accounting. She meticulously kept track of the books for every business the club owned. Her ability to deal with the mundane chore of invoicing the receivables while managing the payables spoke to her above average intelligence. Nothing ever slipped through the cracks.
While she did all that, she still made time to consistently keep his feet solidly on the ground and moving in a forward motion. He loved her dearly.
“My hair’s pissin’ me off. I’m sick of it,” he grumbled and resisted the urge to run his fingers through the longish pieces on top.
He sent the door flying closed in the same banging manner he’d used to open it.
She squinted as she looked him over, lifting her fingers off the keyboard. He’d gained her full attention. She easily dialed into her unique motherly intuitions, quickly and efficiently assessing whatever current mood held him captive. She actively read him without asking any questions.
“I’ve been thinkin’ about a buzz cut or shavin’ it,” he added, his mind still very much distracted by the piece of shit he’d just let walk out of the building. His bad feelings had only sunk lower with the hundred steps he’d taken from his shop to this office.