Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
“What time did you start on the hard shit?” I ask Preppy.
He shrugs. “Eight.”
“No, you didn’t. We were here at eight,” Bear argues.
Preppy dismisses him with a wave of his hand. “Eight this morning.” He explains. “Dre and her Dad took the kids to New York for the weekend, and Daddy has an itch that needs scratchin’.”
Bear’s gaze drops to the bowl of blow. King’s follows.
“Does that bowl have…” King leans in and takes a closer look. “Mini Mouse on it?”
“It wasn’t my first choice,” Preppy replies with a one shouldered shrug. “Daisy Duck was in the dishwasher.”
I realize I’m still holding the key. I tuck it into my wallet for safekeeping.
“That thing comes with a lot of responsibility,” King says, his tone turning serious. “You ready for what comes with it?”
“I’ve never been readier.” It’s the truth. I came to Logan’s Beach to find my brother. I’ve found more than a brother. I found Lenny. My family. And there’s nothing I wouldn’t do for each and every one of them.
“You may have lost a lot of our money, but you’ve gained our respect,” Bear says. “Money can be made again. This shit here? Is fucking priceless.”
I frown. “Wait, Preppy didn’t give you…” I glance at Preppy who looks away whistling, finally our eyes meet.
“Oh, yeah,” Preppy snaps his fingers as if he’s just remembering. “I totally forgot to tell you guys. Nine paid us back, with interest.” He snorts a line, using a metal straw shaped like a tiny vacuum cleaner.
“I’m going to fucking kill you,” Bear warns, cracking his knuckles.
Preppy rolls his eyes. “Don’t be stupid, Bear. Wait until I’m not high anymore because honestly, if you kick my ass now, I’m not gonna feel a thing, and then, where would the pleasure be in that?”
Bear narrows his eyes at Preppy, then nods. “Good point.”
“A toast,” King announces, pouring whiskey into four solo cups. Passing one to each of us. We hold up our cups as I look around the table at each of my new brothers.
King’s eyes meet mine. His toast is a loud yell from the depths of his chest.
“To the Prince of Logan’s Beach!”