Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 93969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 93969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 470(@200wpm)___ 376(@250wpm)___ 313(@300wpm)
“Just fucking with ya, Luke. I ain’t dead.” If it hadn’t been for Dallas, I would have killed him with my bare hands. “Dinner ready? I’m starving,” I wanted to tell him to fuck off, that the only thing he would be eating was a shit sandwich, but Red chose that moment to scream for us to hurry the hell up.
“You have got to be the luckiest bastard on this planet,” I mumbled, grabbing Frankie by the arm and pushing him in front of me.
“Yeah, well ya know Lukey boy, I always have had some pretty good luck. I remember this one time in Reno-” I stopped listening as I stared at the clothing he wore. Fucking Red.
“Ooh Frankie, don’t you look nice,” Red said, giving me a wink. I gave her the I’ll-rip-your-fucking-heart-out stare and she moved her gaze from me to Frankie.
“Those are my jeans,” I said to no one in particular. Did it not bother anyone that he was wearing my fucking clothes?
“Oh Luke, you are such a girl. You can get them back when Charlie kills him. I’m sure he won’t mind.” I sobered at her comment, not believing she had just said that. In front of Frankie. I hated the man, but even I felt sorry for him. Red had no fucking heart. I walked into the kitchen, making myself a plate. Red had fixed Frankie’s and sat it on the table for him. Frankie’s laugh was nervous as he dug into the mashed potatoes and gravy that I knew were divine.
“You are one evil bitch,” I said, walking up behind her and whispering in her ear. She shrugged her shoulder’s, not bothered by my choice of words.
“Frankie knows I hate him. He deserves everything he gets,” she said while propped up against the counter, licking a spoon covered in chocolate cake batter. “Including those potatoes.” Motherfucker.
Chapter 18
Luke
By the time morning rolled around, Frankie was probably wishing for death. He had shit fifty times during the night. Not that I was keeping count, that’s just what he told me as we piled in my truck and headed West. I didn’t care that Frankie had been sick all night. He looked alive and well today, and that was all that mattered. He was clean shaven, dressed in my fucking clothes and looked almost normal. I informed him that I didn’t want to talk, and I only had to deliver him alive, not unharmed. It was a lie, but I didn’t fucking care. I promised to break a finger if he spoke, so he decided to just stare out of the window instead of striking up a conversation. Smart move, Frankie.
I called Charlie to let him know that we were heading out. He told me to meet him at the cabin and he would bring Dallas. Just the mention of her name helped me to remember what I was doing this for. I asked to speak to her, but he refused. He said he wanted to enjoy the morning with her, and speaking to me would just upset her. It pissed me off, but I didn’t say anything. He knew I was mad and calling him out on shit like that would do nothing but piss him off. I had come too far and gave up too much to let my temper ruin everything. I would deliver Frankie to Charlie. He would give me Dallas. Everything was going to be fine.
We pulled up to the cabin, and in the yard sat two black SUV’s. I backed my truck into the yard across from them. As soon as I had Dallas, we would be leaving. I would need a fast exit if things went bad, and we actually managed to make it to the truck. I nudged Frankie’s shoulder, waking him. The motherfucker had slept the entire way, even when I stopped to fill up, he refused to get out. I handcuffed him to the steering wheel, not sure if he would try to run or not. A man would do anything when he knew he was about to die. When he looked around and saw where we were, I expected him to turn to me and beg. He needed to fucking die. I couldn’t even think about what he had done to Dallas when he was in my house. I avoided him at all costs and if it wasn’t for the beautiful girl that would ride back home with me, in the same seat his grungy ass was in right now, I would have made him suffer a slow, painful death.
“Well, are we gonna get out or just fucking sit here? I gotta piss, and you need to work on your driving or get a better ridin’ fuckin’ car. This truck about beat me to death,” he grumbled, reaching for the door handle.