Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 74655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74655 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
At first, there isn’t much that would spark any interest. Furniture, which looks second hand and cheap, but it’s stacked heavily at the front of the unit. If the owners of this place checked this out, they’d likely open the door, take one look at all the furniture, and close it again. It’s going to take me a solid fucking hour to move this out of the way.
But I know my brother, and he’s smart.
He’s put all of this at the front for a reason.
To cover whatever the fuck he’s hiding at the back.
Most people wouldn’t tackle this much furniture, so if the unit did get checked, they’re unlikely to do more than glance.
Smart boy.
I start moving the furniture, dragging it out of the way. It’s all cheap, probably purchased at garage sales for a cheap price, purely for the sake of covering up whatever he’s hiding behind it. Panting, I wipe sweat from my forehead and keep dragging the heavy shit out of the way. Braxton is smart, really. After all, they have a picture of him on record, so the only reason I got in is because I’m his twin. Anyone else wouldn’t be able to get past the front desk, let alone this far down.
It’s safe.
It’s secure.
Clever.
When I clear enough of the furniture to squeeze, and I mean literally fucking squeeze, through it, I finally get to what I’m looking for. Big, wooden boxes stacked nearly wall high behind two rows of heavy furniture. I climb and shove until finally I’m able to get a spot where I can stand. What the fuck is in all these tubs? I can guess, and I know it ain’t fucking good.
I lean down, opening the first one. The top layer is shredded paper, just covering the whole thing. I grab handfuls, pulling it out of the way, until my hand brushes against something hard. I throw more of the paper and reach in, grabbing the item and pulling it out.
Machine gun.
Black.
Deadly.
Fuck.
I start pulling out more stuff. Guns. Knives. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
I move to another tub, opening it.
When my hand curls around something small and hard, I know exactly what’s in this one. I’ve felt these before, hell, I had plastic versions when I was a kid.
A fucking grenade.
I carefully release it. With the pin in, they’re fairly safe, but I’m not taking the risk.
I lean back against an old table, panting. It’s fucking hot in here, and my blood pressure just rose a fucking lot.
What in the name of God is my brother doing with tubs of guns, knives, and fucking bombs?
I thought drugs was the worst of it.
I thought I knew what he was dealing with.
Turns out, I have no fuckin’ clue.
And Braxton is in far, far fucking deeper than I could have ever imagined.
I think it’s time I pay my brother a visit.
-9-
NOW – CHARLIE
“So,” Scarlett says, dangling her feet in the icy-cold water.
Like me, she doesn’t seem to let it bother her. Which is something, considering it literally turns you numb in a few seconds. That can’t be good for the body, but oh well, it is what it is. It makes me feel alive, and I’m wondering if it makes her feel the same way.
“So, what?” I say, flopping down onto a rock beside her and putting my feet in the water also. I cringe for a few seconds, then smile at the cool that washes over my body.
“You and Koda?”
I stare at her. “For someone that doesn’t know me very well, you’re extremely ballsy.”
She grins. “I don’t have to know you to know we’re going to be great friends, which means I require all the gossip. Now, Koda ...”
“What about him?” I mumble. “He hates me. I hate him.”
She snorts. “Oh, right. Anyone with two eyes can see there is massive sexual tension between you two.”
I give her a horrified look. “As if!”
She looks to Amalie, who is crouched on the rock, smiling, but not putting any of her body parts in the water. “Amalie, it’s obvious, is it not?”
Amalie gives me a sympathetic nod. “It’s obvious.”
“Not even,” I huff, shaking my head. “Hate can often be confused for sexual tension, but sometimes, shocking as it might seem, it is actually just hate.”
Scarlett’s brows raise. “I write songs for a living. I watch all kinds of people. I pay attention, and I’m telling you, given half the chance, you two would be tearing each other’s clothes off.”
She’s wrong.
She didn’t see how he treated me the morning after he found me rubbing myself to him fucking another chick. No, he wasn’t happy about it at all. He treated me like I had a damned disease for the whole day. If he wanted to rip my clothes off, he would have taken that opening, and he would have done so.