Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Are you surprised? I’ve been in the business since I could hammer a nail without hitting my own hand,” Scrapper says with a cocky smirk.
“No, I’m not. Which is why I’m here.” She grins and pulls a massive camera out of her bag. “I revived my old social media account just to see what happened, and it’s been great for the bookstore. I asked Dad if he minded if I played with some ideas for getting the club good publicity.”
I narrow my eyes. She might be a grown ass woman, but she’s still the president’s daughter and what the club princess wants, she’ll probably get. I’m not sure I like where this is probably going. “Oh? And what did he say?”
“So long as everyone agrees, and I’m not filming somewhere private or inside the compound, he doesn’t give a shit.”
Reaper looks pissed. “We're a fucking MC. The whole city already knows who we are. What the fuck are you expecting? Meme dances?”
“Oh man, that would be amazing.” Her eyes glint and she's very obviously trying very hard not to break out in laughter. “But no, people go absolutely crazy for home repair and men with muscles swinging power tools. There’s this guy who chops wood…” She looks at our blank faces. “There’s a girl, too. Trust me. It works. I already made an account for the Fixer Uppers. You guys, shirtless and tattooed, swinging big, heavy tools and breaking down walls? Viral hit.”
“Guys like watching chicks chop wood?” Reaper asks.
Faith blushes. “Eh… that might be mostly women, too. It doesn’t matter. What I’m asking is if you guys mind me shooting while you work. I won’t post anything without letting you see it first.”
“Fine by me.” Scrapper pulls off his shirt.
I’m not surprised, he’s almost as bad as Viking, who seems to take wearing a shirt as a personal insult.
“Yeah, sure.” I nod briefly, then look over at Reaper who has his arms crossed in front of his chest. “Are you in?”
“Why the fuck not?” he answers with a shrug.
“This is going to be good, I know it.” Faith is so excited she's nearly bouncing, and she looks around eagerly. “Any more things to break?”
After throwing my shirt aside, I grab my sledgehammer and put it over my shoulder. I nod my head at the wall behind me. “This one's going next.”
“Nice!” She grabs the worker's light and angles it in some way that makes sense to her. “Okay, go out into the hall and walk in one by one, really sell it, guys.”
I feel like a fucking hamburger. Is this what women feel like all the time? Over the next hour she takes a shit ton of footage of us hammering and tearing and smashing shit. It's hard fucking work, and by the time we're done, I'm dripping with sweat. I can’t wait for summer to be over, it can't come too fucking soon. This isn’t what anyone wants to do in the heat.
I've never been a fucking showoff, but I gotta admit, it’s kinda fun when Faith gets excited about something we do. Scrapper's all over this, of course. He was fucking posing before he even knew what the fuck was going on. And even Reaper is flexing a lot more than he has to, showing off that damn Grim Reaper tattoo that covers his whole back like it pays the bills.
Eventually Faith puts down the camera. “Okay, as you were. I’m going to go fiddle with the editing.” Forty-five minutes later, we’re eating lunch as she walks back in. “You guys are gonna want to see this.”
We crowd around her phone to watch the final videos she's put together from the footage. Fucking stripper ass music starts coming out of her phone, and the next thing I know, we’re there, sweaty and shirtless and swinging our tools. Whatever editing magic she used even makes us look like we’re doing it in time to the beat.
“Jesus Christ, Faith.” Reaper shakes his head in disbelief.
Scrapper whistles low. “Daaaaamn.”
“It’s good, right? Can I post one? I forgot how much fun this is.” She grins. “You’re going to be getting so many nasty DMs. Should I forward the good ones?”
Scrapper laughs. “No dick pics, please.”
Faith chuckles evilly. “Of course not. Here goes.” She hits the post button.
We all stare at her phone. Not that any of us give a shit about social media, but…
A heart icon flashes over the video, then a second, then a third.
“See? I told you!” She shows us how to read the metrics for the post, and where we can see who is interacting with it.
The profile picture for the first like looks oddly familiar. I grab her phone and click on the tiny thumbnail. Mila’s cute smile, with her fingers held up in a peace sign, shines right up at me under the username: Milabear. “Who do we have here?”