Total pages in book: 124
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115525 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“I called the police!” the man barked, wiping at the blood dripping down his cheek from where he’d been nicked by the glass. He appeared to struggle to take in air as Mike stood over him, barely winded. “They’re coming right now!”
Fuck. “Look, man. I’m sorry for the misunderstanding. But I came in to check on Mr. Reynolds. I work for him. Didn’t you see us out there for the last two hours?”
“Bullshit.” The guy appeared to be in his twenties, maybe twenty-five, and recovering from one hell of a hangover or bender. He had on a blue-and-red-silk wannabe Hugh Hefner robe, one Versace slipper—the other was across the hallway—and several gold necklaces hanging around his throat. He screamed spoiled, entitled millennial. Mike knew that Jim had a few grandkids, but none of them had ever come to visit while they’d been there.
“Mike!” Manny hollered. “What’s going on in there?”
“Don’t come in… I’m coming out.”
“What the hell?”
“I’m coming out,” Mike reiterated. He shook his head at the mess he’d made all over the floor. Damnit. That was going to cost him.
“The hell you are.” The guy had managed to get to his feet, holding the bat in front of him as if it were a sword.
“Where is Jim?” Mike asked, his voice growing louder.
“Get out of my grandfather’s house, now!” the guy hollered, raising the bat again. Mike wasn’t afraid. How could he be? The man had already shown his incompetence with that weapon.
“Mike!” Manny yelled. “Get out here now… hurry up.”
Mike flexed his fists as he moved around the broken table, glaring at the man still threatening him. He’d love to get one more hit in, but he already knew he’d fucked up. Why didn’t he listen to Manny? His best friend had been watching his back since they were both recruited by the Devil Wreckers motorcycle club at nineteen years old, and he was still trying to keep him out of trouble at forty-eight.
In a neighborhood like this, it didn’t take the police long to respond to a burglary call. So, he wasn’t surprised when he heard the sirens way too close. But in Mike’s neck of the woods, they were lucky if the cops came for a damn homicide. He hurried out of the house as two squad cars sped up the long driveway. Mike met Manny’s dark eyes, his tanned skin glistening with sweat, his gaze furious.
Damn.
“I really don’t understand what the hell goes through your mind, Mike, and I don’t fuckin’ want to,” Manny snapped, waving an angry hand in the police’s direction. “Why’d Jim call the cops on you?”
“Jim ain’t in there. Come on. Load the mulch back on the truck; we’ll finish this next week. We’re leaving.”
“Yeah, no shit,” Manny grumbled as he got his ass in gear and grabbed two twenty-pound bags at the same time, throwing them in the truck bed.
“Hurry up, Manny,” Mike urged.
“They’re not just gonna let us leave,” Manny protested, cutting his narrowed gaze in Mike’s direction. “Who was in there? And what was that crash?”
Mike hurried and grabbed his shovel and hand tools, tossing them in the truck. “Some guy came at me with a bat and tried to cave my damn cranium in, Manny,” Mike growled. “It’s a good thing he had on those bitch-ass slippers, otherwise he might’ve gotten me.”
“Shit.” Manny visibly ground his molars, his jaw clenching. “How bad did you hurt him?”
“He’ll be fine in a few days,” Mike grumbled. I think.
“Mike.” Manny scowled, but before Mike could explain what’d happened, his attacker exploded out the back door, clutching a towel to his cut cheek and walking with an overexaggerated limp. He pointed Mike out to the police.
“That man right there in the dark jeans just broke into my grandfather’s house while he’s in the hospital and tried to rob him.”
“That’s bullshit!” Mike barked, jerking forward, but Manny slammed his heavy palm against the center of his chest, stopping his advance. Now Mike wished he had gotten in that last punch. “I work here. I only went inside to check on my client. I didn’t take shit.”
“Because I stopped you, thief.”
Mike was vibrating as anger clawed at his insides, adrenaline still surging through his body from the fight. “Call me a thief one more time and it’ll be the last words you ever fuckin’ say.”
“Mike, be cool,” Manny muttered close to his side, but Mike could barely register his words as he glared at the man standing like a coward behind the officers.
“Sir. There’s no need for threats,” one of them said, moving forward, her hand loose at her side near her firearm. The other officer matched her stance. “Mr. McElroy said he found you in the house, snooping around.”
“That’s right, I did. And when he saw me, he punched me and threw me across the room. I think maybe one of my ribs are broken!” the bastard hollered like a dramatic victim in a soap opera. “I want him arrested.”