Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Hendrix…” I dragged both hands down my face, annoyed as hell with him. “Shut up.”
“Zepp doesn’t let me do anything.” Monroe rounded the front of the Challenger and squared up to him before poking him in the chest. “I already stole cars, you asshole.”
“Yeah? Well…” His brow wrinkled, and for a split-second, he looked like he was at a loss for words. “Who’s gonna get rid of it for you?” His gaze swung from her to me.
“Oh, like he’s doing me a favor.” She thumbed back at me. “He’s taking a cut.”
Damn her and her mouth. I hadn’t really thought she was going to steal the damn thing. At least not this soon. “Hey!” I held up both hands. “She was talking about it when I was fucking her. It’s basically like agreeing to something when you’re drunk. And I didn’t think she was actually going to do it.”
“Fine. You want out?” She made her way back to the driver’s side. “I have my own guy. I can take it there right now.”
“Roe…” I started, but Hendrix was already taking a step and swinging at me. I caught his wrist and bent his arm back, slamming him against the hood of the car. “I’ll split my half of the money with you, dickwad. Shut up.” I gave him another shove before letting him go.
“Stealing cars is our shit, man,” he whined, then sniffed. “Nothing’s sacred anymore. Not our couch. Not our cars. Nothing.” He pushed away from the hood and pretended to wipe at tears.
“Do you want it, or not?” Monroe asked, hands on her hips.
That was a few grand. She had already stolen the damn thing. “Yeah. We’ll take it over to Billy Bob and the guys at the chop shop.”
“Unbelievable.” Hendrix sank to the leaf-covered ground on a huff. My seventeen-year-old brother was sulking.
Monroe rolled her eyes at him. “Your maturity never fails to astound me, Hen.”
His wide-eyed gaze met mine. “She just called me a chicken!”
Ignoring Hendrix, I grabbed the toolbox from the back porch and dropped it in the grass beside Monroe’s feet. She rummaged through the tools while Hendrix stayed all criss-cross applesauce in the middle of the yard.
“You want a cut,” I said. “Go file down the VIN, dipshit.”
An hour and a half later, we’d dropped the car at the chop shop. I sat in the passenger side of Monroe’s Pinto, counting through the stack of hundreds. “Poor fucking kid,” I said, grinning. Honestly, I didn’t feel bad for the guy. At all.
He had a nice car. He had a cushy Barrington life. And he thought he was going to bang my girl. He could suck my nuts. Besides, Dayton was the mange-riddled lions, and Barrington were the sleek gazelle, ripe for feasting. It was just the circle of life.
Monroe’s phone vibrated in the cupholder. She gave it a brief glance before tossing it to me. “Can you check that?”
Challenger Geek: Sorry I didn’t text you back. Someone stole my car.
Challenger Geek: It was my granddad’s car.
Challenger Geek: Please tell me I can see you. I need some for real cheering up right now.
I stared at the phone, half wanting to laugh, half wanting to punch the kid. God, we were assholes.
“Who is it?” she asked.
“Your boyfriend.”
“Just block the number.”
“Seriously?” I shook my head, typing out a response. “You can’t steal a guy’s car, then block his number.”
Monroe took a hard turn off the highway, slamming me against the window. God, she was a shit driver. “Why not?” she asked.
“Because it makes you look guilty as fuck.” I added a heart to the end of the text.
Monroe: That’s so awful. Maybe I can see you later. I have to go to communion and promise my virginity to the church today.
Challenger Geek: I didn’t take you for a church girl ;)
I snorted and typed another response.
Monroe: What’s that supposed to mean?
Hell no, Monroe wasn’t a church girl. She’d give half those senior citizens cardiac arrest the seconds she stepped in with those tits and those bare legs.
Challenger Geek: I don’t know. You’re hot.
That was it. The kid had to be a virgin. No game whatsoever.
Monroe: Aw. Thanks. Pulling up to the church. GTG. TTYL.
Challenger Geek: Tell Jesus I said hi.
Monroe fishtailed around the corner of my street. Cars were parked along the road and in the yard. People were sprawled over the sagging porch, drinks in hand. And my brother was leaned against the open door, sweet-talking a girl.
“What the hell?” There was no space on the driveway, so Monroe cut around the lawn, blocking in a couple of cars. “I’m not moving.” She opened the door, and rap music from the house poured in. “They can walk home.”
“Got a few people over,” Hendrix said, like the people on the porch and the haze of smoke drifting through the open door wasn’t a dead giveaway.