Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76425 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
It didn't matter how well you handled your car. They were dangerous machines. They killed people every day. They killed professional racers on occasion. No one was safe.
"I managed to correct and stop. I think I was blind with panic for a minute, or maybe just dizzy from the spinning. But I never saw them approach until the back window was shattering, and someone reached in to snatch the package. It was right then that I finally snapped out of it. Just in time. Because the gun was already out. And the bullet would have gone through me instead of lodging into my passenger door as I peeled off."
"Did you see any faces?"
"No."
"Did you tell the Triad?"
"I couldn't find them," I told him, voice rising, making me need to stop to take a breath, calm myself down.
"Do you think they fucked you over?"
"I don't know. I have no idea. All I know is someone is after me. A whole crew of someones, in fact. And they are fucking everywhere. They tracked me all across Florida, up through several states. I can't shake them. Even after abandoning my car. Stealing that piece of shit at your clubhouse. They still found me. They're still after me. I don't know what to do," I admitted, the weeks of stress, the helplessness, the sleeplessness, all starting to weigh down on me at once, making humiliating tears start to pool in my eyes.
"Hey," Che called, voice soft, hand reaching across the table, covering mine, curling to give me a reassuring squeeze. "It's okay. I will help you fix this."
"If your president lets you," I grumbled, wiping impatiently under my eye, not someone who liked tears. My mother might have been a dumpster fire of a human being, but she used to remind all of us that crying about things wouldn't make them any better. It was a mindset I carried with me into adulthood. And when you were working in such a male-dominated world, it served me well to come off as emotionless.
"Huck comes off like a dick sometimes, but he's not going to stand by and let someone put a bullet in you. Not even if we weren't married."
"Even if it involves some sort of organized crime?" I asked, pushing my plate away, suddenly nauseated.
"Alright. He's going to bitch about that a lot more. But the end result will be the same. We will figure this out. No more bullet wounds," he added, giving me a small smile.
"Thank you," I told him, slowly snatching my hand away. Because I liked the feel of it too much, and the last thing I needed was my old girlish crush to come back, further muddying an already messy situation. And with how delicate I was feeling, I knew it was an easy hop, skip, and jump from appreciation to actual feelings.
Nobody wanted that.
"You don't need to thank me. I owe you."
"Right," I agreed, hoping the bitterness hadn't slipped into my tone. I felt it in my chest, a coiled, ugly, inexplicable thing.
Of course he felt like he owed me.
He did.
That was why I had shown up in the first place.
It made no sense to be mad that he felt that way.
"You alright?" Che asked, brows drawn low.
"Fine. I'm just... I'm so tired," I admitted, feeling it right down to my bones.
"Okay," he said, nodding, starting to slide out of the booth. "Come on. Let's get you back to the clubhouse. You can get some sleep."
I was going to bargain with him for a shower, too, but not until we got back there.
Of course, it would end up taking a lot longer than either of us originally anticipated.
Because as soon as we stepped out of the front door of the pizza place, the bullets started to ring out.
Chapter Five
Che
Admittedly, I was having a hard time wrapping my head around the entire situation.
Not just the shit with the Triad.
But the whole thing.
Saskia coming back after so long, asking for help, having made that kind of name for herself without me even knowing.
I'd thought about her more than was probably normal through the years. She'd been such a big part of my life for a while, then the person I was most grateful to in the world. And then... a complete stranger. A story I couldn't share with anyone else, but one I played over and over in my own head.
I don't know what I thought she might be up to.
I guess I figured she'd eventually gotten her wild out, that it had simply been the product of a neglectful mom, absent father, scarcity, and desperation to get away from it all. I figured she would eventually settle down, find a career, maybe even find a man.
Maybe I'd always figured the next time I would see Saskia was when she was serving me divorce papers, so she could marry the man she loved, raise babies, have a normal life.