Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70106 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 351(@200wpm)___ 280(@250wpm)___ 234(@300wpm)
The woman in trouble teasingly taunts, “You sound a little cranky. I tried really hard not to wake you up from your nap.”
Swallowing my snicker isn’t necessary due to the loud dropping of the door masking the sound.
It’s really not the fucking time to make light of what’s going on.
Doesn’t mean she won’t try.
And it doesn’t mean I can’t enjoy it when she does.
That’s one of those things I lov –
No.
Not saying that shit.
“I’m not cranky!” Kipp yells a second time.
“You sound cranky,” she continues to chide as I cross over to rest my ass against the counter beside him.
“I’m not fucking cranky!” He barks even louder, this time creeping just an inch closer in her direction. “I’m fucking pissed!”
“Pretty sure the bass boost your usin’ is givin’ that shit away, Kid,” I lightheartedly point out and fold my arms across my chest.
“Here I am thinking my Ferrari is getting waxed and detailed and her goddamn oil changed only to find out that someone was trying to Ferris Bueller it instead!”
Bunny’s head tilts to one side in bewilderment. “You’ve seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off?”
“That’s what you took away from the comparison?” I thoughtlessly poke.
“Of course I’ve seen it. Nolan has the hots for Mathew Broderick.”
Her eyebrow doesn’t hesitate to quirk in question.
“No.” I clear my throat to emphasize my refusal to change subjects. “We ain’t about to unpack that shit right now.”
Rabbit can’t help herself from goading, “Sounds like we should.”
“Sounds like your ass will do fucking anything to deflect from discussing the topic at hand furthermore fucking proving why Nolan removing the doors from every room of the apartment was so fucking necessary!”
Took less time than I thought it would.
Even the closets are on display.
Pantry too.
“Why the fuck did you try to leave, Bunny?!”
“You know why I tried to leave, Kipp!”
“No, I don’t.” The Kid slowly and deliberately shakes his head in disagreement. “Especially not after you saw what the fuck I’m capable of.”
“I don’t want you to be capable of that!”
“I was capable of that long before you came into the fucking picture! There are only so many fuckin’ dents a person can take before they’re jus’ gettin’ their shit wrecked!”
His cold-blooded response sends an unexpected chill down my spine.
“You do what you have to do to protect yourself and the people you love.” Kipp’s jaw momentarily hardens. Ticks. “End of race.”
Bunny guiltily glances away.
To be fair…had he not put Big K in the ground when he did…I would’ve.
There’s no excuse for beating your son.
Damn sure no reason that he should’ve been sporting an almost pitch black eye and minor concussion he lied about getting in a fight over who makes a better car the Italians or the Germans.
“Now, from the starting line,” my partner begins again, arms folding to match mine, “why the fuck did you try to leave?”
“I don’t want you to get hurt.”
“Why the fuck does everyone think I’m that fragile?!” The Kid harshly shouts in obvious frustration. “I’m not some piece of shit sub-compact that’s got a recall notice out on it! I can take a fucking hit! Maybe I’m not a fucking tank like Nolan-”
“You think I’m that…big?”
“I think you’re that fucking strong.” He offhandedly rebuts. “And I think I’m more like a Silverado than anyone wants to give me credit for.”
Our woman tucks the pen into her bun and sighs, “Not sure I entirely follow this fucking metaphor or simile or car report in progress, but I wasn’t implying that you’re not physically capable of taking a hit so much so as trying to say I don’t want you to emotionally take a beating because of me.”
An unexpected, emotionless shrug is presented. “Tough tits.”
I’m not sure whose jaw cracks faster…mine or hers.
“It’s not all about what you want, Bunny.”
“I-”
“Sometimes shit is about what you need.”
“But-”
“And you, whether or not you get it, or whether or not you wanna get it, or whether or not you fuckin’ understand it, you need us. And we need you. And we all need to start workin’ together the way we’re fuckin’ meant to as the engine,” he tips his head at me, “the transmission,” his chin dips inward prior to kicking outward, “and the fuckin’ ignition.”
“But-”
“There are no fucking buts!”
To my surprise, his continual yelling causes my cock to stir.
Despite how magically fuckable he looks as his muscles flex and unflex during each outburst, now is not the time for that shit.
I know that.
Now, let’s get my dick that memo, too.
“You don’t get to burn rubber ‘cause shits hard or scary or maybe a little fucking confusing!” Kipp’s frame naturally gravitates towards where she’s sitting on the couch. “You have to stay in fucking park just like we do!”
Her mouth suddenly clamps shut.
“We’re all on the insurance. We’re all on the maintenance plan. We’re all here for the next stretch of long hard miles between services.” He drops his palms firmly on the edge of the couch and leans into her space. “Am I making myself freshly fucking waxed clear?”