Total pages in book: 152
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149982 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 750(@200wpm)___ 600(@250wpm)___ 500(@300wpm)
A fist connected with Jack’s jaw too, but I’m more concerned about the blunt force against the pole.
Does he even remember we were in a fight? Maybe he’s concussed. “Do you remember what happened?”
He gathers his bearings. “Yeah, of course, I just didn’t see you get hit.” He glances over at my client who’s lifting up his button-down to inspect the deep bruises forming along his ribs. “Charlie, you okay?”
He nods once.
I reach for my radio to call the med team, then I remember it’s mangled.
Good job, Oliveira. Look what my anger got me.
Jack eases forward. “I’m alright.” His lips, kid you not, curve into a smile. “Who would have thought my first fight would end with me knocked out by a pole?”
“Not me,” I say honestly. “You vs. Pole. I’m putting all my money on you.”
He smiles a little wider. “Here’s the thing, Os, you’d put all your money on me no matter what.” He stretches out his legs. “You’re the president of my fan club.”
“True,” I say and eye that smile. “You sure you’re feeling alright?”
He nods strongly. “Yeah.” He rubs the back of his head.
I climb to my feet and hold out my palm. Helping Jack to a stance, I keep a hand on his shoulder, and I wait for a couple seconds. He’s steady. Alert, even. But still, I ask, “Alright?”
“Yeah.” His hand falls into mine and he squeezes before dropping it completely. His attention veers to his broken camera equipment on the ground, and my focus realigns to my client.
I squat next to Charlie. “Can you stand?”
“Maybe.”
I help him up too, and as soon as his feet hit the floor, he careens into the nearest bumper car. Fuck. I support him around the waist before he falls.
I thought his ribs were the worst, but he might have actually fucked his leg again. “Hold on,” he groans as he sits on the hood of a bumper car. “Let me take a breath.” He winces as he inhales.
“What happened?” I ask the question I’ve been avoiding. I’m not sure I’m going to like the answer.
“They said they had weed.” Charlie cringes. “They didn’t. They robbed me.” He nods a chin at a wallet on the ground. The wallet that I made that fucker give me before I let him go.
No. I bend down and pick it up. Immediately, I recognize the leather. Maybe I was too panicked before to comprehend the familiarity. But I flip it open and see Charlie’s license. Fucking shit, I can’t believe I made this mistake.
No ID of the threats.
They all escaped.
I’m going to get hell for this one. I pocket Charlie’s wallet.
Jack scoops up his broken camera. “Charlie, why would you follow them without a bodyguard?”
“Yeah, Charlie, why would you do that?” I say mockingly, already knowing the answer.
He rolls his eyes. “I took the risk.”
Because he doesn’t give a shit if he gets hurt. Pain, right? It’s greater than the frustration he feels on a daily basis. I don’t know how to help him other than making sure he keeps talking to his dad.
All I can do is try to protect him, even if he doesn’t want it.
I bend down to the graveyard of camera pieces, helping Jack pick up what’s left. “Can it be fixed?” I ask him.
Charlie says, “I’ll pay for it.”
“It’s not about the money,” Jack sighs. “I lost whatever Jesse recorded earlier. But he still has a second cam on him right now, so whatever other footage he’s grabbing at the carnival should still be usable.”
Charlie pushes off the hood of the car and stumbles close before I can reach him. I see he’s trying to help pick up a lens off the ground.
“I’ve got it,” I tell him, but he’s already on his knees, curling his fingers around the lens. He passes it to Jack.
“I’m sorry,” Charlie breathes. It’s one of the few times I’ve heard him verbalize an apology.
“Alright, you’re concussed, Charlie,” I say, flat-out. I help my client back to his feet and then wrap an arm underneath his, supporting his weight. “I’m getting you both to Farrow.”
Jack zips up his camera bag, but I grab the strap before he can and hook it over my free shoulder. The three of us slowly walk down the aluminum stairs. Out of the bumper car tent.
Heading back to the main carnival, lights still glow and music thumps loudly.
Jack touches the bump on his head in a wince. “So this is what a fight feels like?” His glittering gaze slides to me. “Have to say, Oscar, I can’t believe you used to do this for a living.”
“Tell that to my baby sister who’s still doing it for a living.”
He lets out a soft sound with the shake of his head.
Gabe catches up to us, and I take his radio. Sorry, Gabe. Seniority and all. I fit in the earpiece and switch frequencies about the same time a familiar serious-ass voice sounds in my ear. “Thatcher to SFO, has anyone had eyes on Akara, Banks, or Sulli in the past twenty?”