Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27552 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 138(@200wpm)___ 110(@250wpm)___ 92(@300wpm)
I don’t even realize the minister is speaking until it’s King’s turn to recite our vows. We opted to say our own straight from the heart, and I’m leaning toward him, eager to hear what he’s chosen to say.
He clears his throat and takes my hands. “I promise to guard this thing between us just like I guard you and the kids. I promise to protect it with my life. Forever.”
I’m so full of every emotion that I can’t even remember what it was I wanted to say. I sniffle. “How the hell am I supposed to follow that?”
King’s eyes never leave mine. “Just promise you’ll be mine forever.”
“I am yours. Forever. I promise.”
“Damn fucking right, you are,” King growls. He reaches for me, lifting me up in the air and pressing his lips to mine in a kiss that wouldn’t be appropriate for any kind of church wedding.
The crowd hoots and hollers as the reverend closes his book. “I guess you won’t be needing the rest of it since you’ve seem to have taken matters into your own hands. So, by the power vested in me and the fact that you’re already legally married, I now pronounce you man and wife.”
We’re all searching for a little light in the darkness. Something to cling to when life lashes out. I have that with my kids. With King. I make another vow to myself. To trust the safety net he’s built around us and lean against him when I feel myself falling. Because King isn’t just my husband or my partner, he’s my soul, my safe place.
My shelter from any storm.
Chapter 11
King
“You might want to take the fucking sign down,” Bear says, pointing at the top of the old hunter’s shack hidden in amongst the thick pines of Motherfucker Island at the bright neon sign hanging above the door.
Preppy looks up and scratches his head. “Why? Not big enough? Should I have used a ‘g’ instead of the apostrophe? I knew I shouldn’t have gone with slang. ING would have been so much classier.”
Bear slaps him in the back of the head. “Because it’s a big fuckin’ neon sign that says The Killin’ Shed.”
“How will the people we killin’ going to know it’s a killin’ shed if there’s no sign?”
“They will know, and so will the cops,” Bear points out, dropping his bag at his feet.
“You two bicker like old ladies at the supermarket fighting over the last of the fucking tapioca,” I mumble, adjusting my own heavy leather bag, hanging over my shoulders.
The blue-hairs ignore me and continue on with Preppy pointing to the sign. “No, they would never think that a place with a sign that says killin’ shed is an actual killin’ shed. Duh, Bear, it’s common reverse psychology. Or don’t you have books at your big bad biker playhouse?”
“Clubhouse,” Bear growls, staying behind with me as Preppy goes inside. The door shuts behind him, but we can still hear him singing. “Ain’t no business like Killin’ Shed business like no business I knoooowww.”
“You know,” Bear says, taking a drag off his smoke. “He may have come back to life, but I think some pieces of his fucking brain are still dead.”
“Wouldn’t be Preppy if we weren’t constantly questioning his lack of sanity.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth,” Bear says. He stubs out his smoke, and we go inside where Preppy is still singing his song while pulling on a pair of thick rubber gloves. The kind meant for welders. Or in our case, murderers.
“Welcome to the killin’ shed!” Preppy announces. “It’s like Disney World, except there’s no rides, and it’s not the happiest place on earth. Well, not for you, anyway.” Preppy scratches his head. “Shit, I guess it’s nothing like Disney World. Okay. Okay. Let me try again.” He scratches his chin with the long sharp blade in his hand. “Okay, how about this one.” He clears his throat. “Welcome to the killin’ shed. The last place you’ll ever be.”
The guy moans from behind his gag, and Preppy twists his lips. “No? Damn. I’ll keep working on it. Too bad you won’t get to hear what kind of amazing tag-line I finally do come up with.” He taps the knife on the guy’s nose. “In case I didn’t make it clear, you won’t hear it ‘cause you’ll be all dead and shit.” Preppy makes his best dead man hanging at the end of a noose face.
“I think he gets it,” Bear says, pointing to the man’s pants where a large wet stain has formed. “He pissed himself.”
“Oh, goodie. I didn’t even have to break out the power point presentation,” Preppy says, sauntering back to the table of torture items he’s set up, then nods to me. “You’re up, boss-man.”
I don’t move because I’m staring at one of the men responsible for the almost deaths of my wife and daughter and the rage courses through my ears and the tunnel vision surrounding his face is all I can concentrate on. “So, you wanted to fuck with the King of the Causeway?” I finally ask. “You’re about to feel what happens to people who mess with the wrong fucking family.”