Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60234 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 301(@200wpm)___ 241(@250wpm)___ 201(@300wpm)
“And if she’s still alive,” Shades adds with a grim expression.
“Don’t fucking say that,” Dix blurts out, shaking his head as if the thought is just too much to bear.
Shades shrugs. “Either way, those assholes are dead. For Banger’s sake, I hope Willow is alive and pissing those motherfuckers off.”
Dix is taking this harder than any of us expected. “You know what they were doing out there? Looking at houses, man. He’s ready to take it to the next level. Leave the clubhouse and be with his girl.” He lifts his hands in a helpless gesture. “He’ll be okay?”
I give him a grim smile. “I’ll make sure he is.”
Ace gives a sharp nod. “You about done here?”
I acknowledge his signal talk. “What’s up, boss?”
“Get to the clubhouse as soon as you can. We need all hands on deck. You’ll get your marching orders when you get there.”
Fuck, I was hoping to get home and get some shut eye.
“I’m right behind you,” I assure him but give myself a minute to check up on the status of other patients at the clinic before I check out for the night.
It’s an open secret that the clinic belongs to the Reckless Souls. We do a lot of good for the community through this place, and it’s also good for the legit cash flow.
Our clinic may be called ‘free,’ but it’s not exactly without cost. Most of our patients have state-sponsored insurance, and for those who don’t, we don’t turn them away.
Instead, we help them obtain coverage through the state. Sure, it can be a slow process for the government to pay, but eventually, they always come through. It may not be as lucrative as the high-profile doctors in Beverly Hills or L.A. proper, but it’s enough to keep our clinic running and ensure the city stays off our backs when it comes to our other *ahem* businesses.
When I’ve wrapped up business, I give myself a minute in private to get my shit together. I can’t afford to lose my focus right now. Until Banger is on his own two feet, I can not lose my shit. I need to be sharp, and I need to do right by my brother.
When this storm passes, I’ll tackle my demons.
When this storm passes. What a joke.
CHAPTER THREE
Maggie
“Oye, chica,” Demon says, his voice dripping with confidence.
I can hear him as if he were still alive, sitting right next to me. Alone in this abandoned building, it’s inevitable that my thoughts turn back to Demon, not that I can think about anyone else. He was my man, my lover.
My best friend.
And he’s dead.
I recall a moment back in the day. There I was, adjusting my denim overalls, all smudged with dirt and grass at the knees, when Demon—though everyone else still called him Damien back then—strolled up with a big smile on his face. He had that signature barrio swagger even in the fifth grade.
“You wanna rep my kickball team or what?”
I shot him a look, then broke into a grin. “You think you can handle a girl on your team?”
Without waiting for an answer, he grabbed my hand, pulling me toward the kickball diamond. From that day on, we were thick as thieves. Friends, enemies, lovers—we ran the whole playground.
But over time, the cute and cocky boy Damien hardened into the gangster Demon. At fifteen, he was jumped into the Bloodthirsty Devils. His initiation wasn’t just his rite of passage; it marked a turning point for us. His newfound confidence and swagger in his new gang colors stirred something raw and powerful inside me.
Out of nowhere, he draped an arm around me, that mischievous grin plastered on his face. “Hey, Mami, wanna roll with me for reals? Be my girl?”
My body lit up at his words, at his smile. I stepped back and looked him up and down, feeling my nipples harden at the sight of him in head-to-toe red and black. I rocked my own gang colors, purple and white, and in my mind, we would end up being this power couple like Jay-Z and Beyonce, only more badass. “Yeah, Papi, I think I do.”
A hard cough shakes my whole body, and I return to the present for a moment, where I’m huddled under a makeshift bed of folded cardboard boxes and tarps. I readjust things until I’m as comfortable as possible, but now I’m awake and staring at nothing but the grim dark ceiling. To avoid the ravenous animal gnawing in my gut demanding food, I let my thoughts slip back to happier days in the past.
Demon and I kicking it in the car, parked in some hidden alley, blaring old-school jams. He looked at me like he never had before, his eyes tracing every tattoo, every curve. The night was young, and so were we, drenched in beer, smoke, and teenage bravado.