Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75348 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 301(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
"We'll help," Slash offered. "Not because you need it," he added, nodding at me. "But because it's a lot of fucking work. I'll call Sway in too. Gotta help clean up our mess."
"That's fine," I agreed when Fallon shot me a questioning look. "Go. Check on Dezi. Text me when you know something."
"Okay," he agreed, turning to leave, then whipping back around, grabbing me at the back of my neck, and kissing me silly right there in front of everyone. Then turning and walking away, leaving me feeling all disoriented and fuzzy.
"This his doing?" Grandpa asked, waving toward Tank's body near the bar, his hand still pinned to the wood.
"Yeah."
"Good man, that one," Grandpa decided, giving me a nod.
"He is," I agreed.
"You're going to be at each other's throats a lot," Pops pitched in.
"I know," I agreed. "It's... it's nice to not always get away with being a bitch," I admitted.
"He lets you be softer," Munch declared. "You never had that before. It's good. Soft is good."
"Christ," I said, pressing a hand to my heart. "I think that is the most words I've heard you speak. Are you okay? Are you learning to communicate now that you don't have your face buried in someone's snatch all the time?"
"I'm going through withdrawal," Munch grumbled. "Chewy's tyrant ass was keeping the chicks away from me."
"Well, you are all free after we handle all this. No more looking over your shoulders," I said, taking a deep breath as I looked around. "Let's get to work," I added.
Then everyone hopped to.
Sway turned up with Brooks a while later, bringing tarps for the bodies and a shitton of cleaning supplies.
"Why'd we invest in a bar again instead of a crematorium?" Dutch grumbled a couple hours later, dragging yet another body wrapped in a bright blue tarp toward the back door to be loaded by Slash and his men into the back of someone's pick-up truck. "Could just burn up all the fucking bodies in situations like this."
"Seriously," I said, standing to wipe the sweat off my brow with my forearm, the tips of my fingers raw from the bleach I'd been scrubbing with for hours. "Why the hell has no one thought of that?" I asked. "Keep that in mind when you get your chapter," I said, looking over at Slash.
"Not a bad idea," Slash agreed. "Seems like we might be dealing with a lot of bodies to get shit started up," he added, casually picking a piece of brain matter off a tabletop, and putting it in one of the bags we'd collected of bits of flesh and bone.
"Alright," Munch said, coming back a while later with Sway, both covered in dirt and drenched in sweat, despite the cooler temperatures. "We're tapping another group in," he added, going straight to the bar to grab a beer.
"I'll take a turn," I offered. Fallon was still waiting for Dezi, who was in surgery. I had some hours to spare. "You and me?" I asked, looking over at Slash.
The rest of the night was a blur of grave-digging.
I dug until my arms gave out on me, having to let Slash finish the filling in of the three we'd dug.
We went back, and another team replaced us. Then it was a couple Henchmen, followed by Munch and Sway again. And before my arms felt anywhere near ready, it was time for Slash and me once more.
I was just barely keeping myself awake when we made it back to the bar around sunup, finding the SUV Fallon had used to take Dezi to the hospital parked in the lot.
I didn't expect the rush of relief to see it there. Or that I would get out of the car, and walk right into his arms.
But that was exactly what happened.
"You're dead on your feet, babe," he said, voice soft as his hand massaged up my spine.
"I have blisters on top of my blisters," I whined. Because I knew he wouldn't judge me for it.
"I bet."
"How's Dezi?"
"Asking the nurses for a sponge bath," Fallon said, managing an impossible feat—getting a laugh out of my exhausted body.
"Good. I'm glad," I told him, meaning it as I took a deep sniff of his neck.
"Shower," Fallon said. "Then we can get going. Get some sleep."
"We need to clean," I insisted.
"Did you have blinders on when you walked in?" he asked.
I sort of had. All I saw was him. Everything else fell away.
But at his words, I pulled back far enough to look around, noticing that the blood and brain matter was all gone. Bullets were cleaned up. Hell, it seemed like someone had even scrubbed the decades of grime off the windows.
Brooks.
That was why Fallon was going to tap his shoulder for a Sergeant at Arms position. He was a hard worker, a rule follower, someone who could whip the other guys into shape if it was necessary.