Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 71090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71090 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 355(@200wpm)___ 284(@250wpm)___ 237(@300wpm)
I signaled to Luke, who quickly nodded, allowing me to lead the way into the garage.
I’d never know what shocked me more.
The fact that the man I’d thought had his blood soaked into the living room floor was actually standing up beating the shit out of Quentin Ortiz, or the fact that Ortiz was sitting on a stool, tied there with duct tape, getting the absolute tar beaten out of him by an eighty nine year old man.
“Holy fucking shit,” I breathed, lowering my weapon once I’d cleared the room.
“Hiya,” Grandpa Rhodes crowed. “Caught this little boy here breaking into my house. I’m just having a little fun with him.”
The old man’s voice sounded frail as he said that, but his movements as he continued to beat Ortiz up was anything but weak.
“Ummm,” Luke said. “Clear.”
I looked down, taking in the kiddie pool that was erected underneath the legs of the stool Ortiz was taped down to, then couldn’t help the small laugh that bubbled out of my throat.
“I just…I just…what the fuck is going on?” Downy asked, flabbergasted just as we were by what he was seeing.
I snorted. “Now can you see why I gave the old goat a ticket? He’s fucking insane…and a badass just like his son.”
The old man laughed. “Where do you think that boy learned his skills, you dumb ox?”
He followed up that question with a punch to the gut, followed by a quick uppercut to the jaw.
“Um, Mr. Rhodes, do you mind if we take him off your hands?” Downy finally asked.
“Oh! Sure! Just let me,” he got in two last hits. One in the groin, and one straight to the man’s Adam’s apple. “Alrighty, all finished, my boys.”
He stepped back, grabbed his cane that was leaning up against the project Mustang, and hobbled slowly out of the room.
We watched him go, stunned and silent, wondering if we’d seen just what we thought we’d seen.
“Do you…am I…motherfucker. I want to be him when I grow up,” Michael breathed.
I laughed then, so happy that the old fucker was okay that I could barely see straight.
“This is Officer Spurlock, badge number 654,” I said into my mic. “Scene is clear. We’ll need a bus.”
***
“Look at your poor hands!” Blake cried to her grandfather for the fifth time.
We’d had Grandfather Rhodes cleared by medical personnel, then we’d taken him back to his home…even though Blake had flat out refused to leave him at home by himself.
“Listen, girl. I’m fine. I’m eighty nine, not twenty. I know how to take care of myself. Get in your godforsaken car and go home. Now,” the old goat growled, practically shoving his granddaughter out the door, then slamming it in her face.
The lock slid home, and the beeping of the alarm sounded quickly after that. Followed by the slow shuffling steps of him walking away.
“I can’t…I…what the fuck?” Blake sighed, shaking her head and turning on her heel to stomp to my truck. “What are you waiting for, Christmas?”
She tossed that lovely statement over her shoulder, making me want to laugh.
I managed to keep it in, though, following her to the truck, watching her ass sway as I did.
She was in the passenger seat with the door closed before I was even able to get to her, and I growled in frustration before getting into the driver’s side and starting the truck up.
“He’ll be okay,” I said soothingly.
She snorted. “I know that. The old goat is too persistent to die. I love the shit out of him, but sometimes he’s so stubborn and pigheaded.”
I tossed her a look, and stifled the urge to laugh once again. “And you’re not?”
She shook her head vehemently. “Absolutely not. I’m freakin’ perfect.”
I drove the three blocks to the apartment building and pulled into a front row parking spot, shutting off the engine the moment I was close enough to the curb.
“You know…” she hesitated, looking over at me. “There’s no reason for me to stay with you anymore. I’m safe. You’ve caught the bad guys. You could probably take me home…if you wanted.”
I ignored her idiotic statement, and instead got out, slamming the door behind me.
I was halfway up the steps to my apartment when her indignant growl of frustration followed me up the stairs.
“You’re a stubborn...” she climbed the steps, huffing and puffing the whole way. “Infuriating, butthead, annoying…you did not just close that door in my face!”
I had to laugh when she threw the door open.
“Welcome, welcome,” the bird crowed. “Molder, you pecker head.”
Did I mention her bird was annoying?
And a tattletale?
I’d made it into the bedroom after letting the dog out, and was in bed removing my prosthesis when she finally came in, Molder in her arms.
She glared at me as she dropped the beast in the bathroom, and closed the door behind him.
“You know what your problem is?” She asked, yanking the shirt off her body.
Her boobs popped free of her bra with the force of it, and my eyes immediately zeroed in.
“Hmm?” I asked, licking my lips at the sight.
Jesus, no control, Spurlock! Get your head in the game!
“What’s my problem?” I asked.
She narrowed her eyes at me when I finally bothered to look up.
“Your problem,” she said, stripping her jeans from her hips. “Is that you never take me seriously. I tell you something, and it goes in one ear and out the other. Is that something I have to look forward to for the rest of my life? Because I don’t think I can handle any more dumb men.”
My heart skidded to a stop, and then started pounding double time.
“You want to spend the rest of your life with me?” I asked, clarifying.
“There you go being dumb again,” she snapped, pulling her bra over her head and tossing it to the floor.
Her breasts bounced, and the day…the fighting...everything, flew out the fucking window.
All I knew was that I was taking her.
Right fucking then.
I leaned forward, snaked my hands around her waist, and practically ripped her panties from her legs.