Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 116280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 116280 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 581(@200wpm)___ 465(@250wpm)___ 388(@300wpm)
Syn watched Day look around at his lack of furniture ... or pictures ... or art ... or decorations ... or any other amenities that made a house a home. “Oh good. It looks like we didn’t miss the housewarming party. Are you registered?”
“Fuck off, Day,” Syn grunted and jerked open his refrigerator for a Corona since he never got to finish his at the pub.
“Put that back. We got a dead body. Let’s go.” God grabbed his coat.
“Dead body.” Syn frowned. “We doing homicide now?”
“We do whatever the fuck I say. Let’s go.” God’s voice was definitive.
Syn put the beer back quickly and went to his room to get his own shoulder holster and his other Glock. He harnessed them both and went out the door behind his bosses.
They walked down the hall, neither man concerned with making his footsteps light. Wouldn’t you know – it must be Syn’s shit day because stoner-neighbor was coming off the elevator with another pizza and about five more guys in tow.
“Hey, it’s the mob squad.” Stoner laughed, high fiving one of his friends who looked as high as he was. Stoner turned and looked at them. “I’m just saying you guys look ... well ya know ... you look weird.” Stoner giggled.
“Dude, you think we look weird, and you’re the one wearing a goddamn Members Only jacket,” Day scoffed, grinning.
“Who the hell wears those things anymore?” Syn asked in disbelief.
“The last fucking member.” Day laughed.
Syn’s laugh burst from him before he could stop it, even God let out a husky laugh. Syn had to admit, Day was one funny motherfucker. God’s hulking figure moved through the crowd. None of stoner’s friends wanting to accidently bump into him. As they got onto the elevator they could still hear Stoner’s friends ribbing him about his old-school jacket.
‘Birds of a Feather Flock Together’
Furi shoved his apartment key into the lock with way more force than was needed and shouldered the door open, making it bang loudly against the wall behind it.
“A cop, he’s a fucking cop!” Furi yelled at his empty apartment. He pulled out a cigarette from a crumpled pack and lit it while he dialed the only person he trusted.
Furi listened to the annoying rap song that was programmed as the ring on Doug’s phone while he waited for him to pick up. He answered on the third ring.
“What up, Furi?”
Furi sighed at the sound of his best friend’s voice. “Hey man, are you busy? I need to talk to you right now. I’m fucking freaking out.”
“Say no more. I’m on my way. Are you at home or at the pub?” Doug asked.
“I’m home.” Furi ran his left hand through his hair and pulled on the length. It was a nervous habit.
“Be there in twenty.”
“Thanks babe.”
Furi went to the bathroom and pulled off his bar shirt and noticed the bruise from the punch. Fucking bastard, college prick. As he leaned against the wall waiting for the water to get warm, he thought about Syn’s reactions. The man had jumped into the fight like super-save-a-gay-man and taken out one of the guys before Furi knew what was happening. Then he was being pushed behind him while Syn flipped out his badge.
Furi got under the spray and washed as quickly as he could. He tried not to think about Syn’s scent, his voice, or his strength. Men like that were nothing but trouble. Powerful men. Men who thought they controlled everything. Furi’s dick was hard and aching to be touched as he replayed Syn’s actions repeatedly. He was pissed off; he didn’t want to want him. He’d actually been entertaining the thought until he saw the badge.
Furi had just stepped out of the shower and wrapped a towel around himself when he heard pounding on his door.
Furi yanked it open. “Geez Doug. Wake up Ms. Jones why don’tcha?” Furi moved aside and let his friend in. Doug had obviously just come from work. His jeans had grease stains and his work shirt was opened revealing a tight, smudged, white wife-beater. His black steel-toe work boots had plenty of wear-and-tear on them. Doug was the hottest fucking mechanic Furi had ever seen. “What’s that?” he asked, looking at the brown crumpled bag in Doug’s hand.
“A little something for your nerves.” Doug pulled out a bottle of Don Julio tequila and grinned at him.
“Damn man, sparing no expense huh?” Furi said, walking over to his dresser and grabbing some boxers and a pair of track pants.
“Well it sounded like you could use it.” Doug went into the tiny kitchen, pulled out two mismatched glasses, and grabbed an ice tray out the freezer, making his way back to Furi’s thrift store couch. “Is this still about Mack pressing you to scene with a chick?”
“No. I haven’t heard anything else about that. Hopefully I never will. This is about a guy.” Furi slid on his pants and plopped down by Doug, quickly taking the offered glass. He gulped it and relished the premium liquor sliding smoothly down his throat.