Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 72196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72196 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 361(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
My eyes quickly dashed around the area, noting that there were three people that I could see out on the porches of various houses, and of the three people, only one looked like he gave more than one shit that I was taking possession of a car by force.
Keeping my eye on him out of the corner of my eye, I got all the hooks, cables, and chains attached to the car, and then started to tighten them.
By the time that the back end of the car I was sent to repossess by the bank was safely hitched up onto my tow truck, only five minutes had passed.
However, it was the sound of the winch working that made the right amount of noise to alert the man in the house who owned this particular car.
“Hey!”
I finished locking the car into place and rounded the back of the truck.
I’d just opened the door and was lifting my leg inside when the man rounded the hood of the truck and slammed his hands down on the door.
It closed right on my leg, but I didn’t let on that it hurt.
“Can I help you?” I questioned calmly.
If I’d responded with anything else, I knew from experience that I’d be sparking the man’s ire—even more than I already had.
“That’s my car. Put it down.”
I shook my head. “It may be your car, but since the note hasn’t been paid on it in over four months, the bank that you purchased the loan from is legally free to take it back. Which they’ve done.”
“You can’t do that!” he screamed.
And then he started to reach for his pants.
I chose that moment to slam the door shut, wincing when the first bullet ricocheted off the bulletproof glass that Dante and I had decided to splurge on.
It’d cost us a fucking mint to put it into five new trucks, but at this point, as I looked at the bullet that would’ve gone straight into my goddamn chest, I was grateful that we’d spent it.
And as the next shot bounced off right around where my head would’ve been, I said a prayer.
“Shots fired,” I heard over the radio in the truck.
I was linked into the police ban of the county, and although we no longer had a local police department, we did have a sheriff.
A sheriff that had bigger fish to fry most times then to come patrol the tiny town of Hostel.
‘Shots fired’ however, was going to get the Sheriff, as well as any law enforcement within a twenty-minute radius to head toward the shooting.
The volunteer fire department would’ve also answered the call, but since the shooter was still firing at the truck—surely, he’d be out of bullets soon—they couldn’t come any closer until he was contained.
But when he reached into his pocket and produced another magazine, I realized that this man would literally fire at me for hours if I continued to just sit here.
Which was why I chose to do what I did next—leave.
The man apparently had been anticipating that I’d do it, because the moment the truck went into gear, he threw himself at the car before it could pass.
He yanked the car’s door that I’d had hooked up to the truck open, and launched himself inside head first.
I looked at the ceiling and called into dispatch, using my own code that the sheriff’s department had given The ‘Hail Raisers’ as he’d dubbed us early on in Dante’s and my tenure.
“Dispatch, this is 0224 requesting backup to 20029 Boddy Road. I have a white male trying to remove his car from my possession.”
“10-4, 0224. Backup is on the way.”
I rehung the microphone and stared in my rearview mirror for all of ten seconds before I pulled my phone out of my pocket and started to browse Pinterest.
Don’t ask me why I was cruising Pinterest. Honestly, it was Hannah’s fault. I’d been a Pinterest virgin before Hannah had come into my life, and ruined me.
While I was cruising ‘old collectible cars’ my mother called. I winced, wondering if she would call back immediately if I ignored it, and decided that yes. Yes, she fucking would.
So I bit the bullet and answered it.
“Hey, Ma,” I greeted her.
A jolt had me glancing up to the rearview mirror as I watched the man try to drive his car off of my truck. With the back end suspended by the frame, and the only thing with purchase being the front tires, I had no doubt that he wouldn’t be able to go anywhere.
But to be sure, I lifted the front end just a little bit higher, allowing only about an inch of tire to touch the pavement.
“Hey, sugar,” my momma said. “What time can I expect you and Hannah for dinner tonight?”
I looked at my watch and contemplated telling her no.