Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 132892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 664(@200wpm)___ 532(@250wpm)___ 443(@300wpm)
Marsh laughed and shook his head.
“The only man she really cares about is me,” he said. “She’d be bored of you already if she hadn’t caught you fuckin’ around.”
“We got an understanding, then?”
“Yeah, we got an understanding. You take care of the cargo, I’ll take care of Talia. We all do our jobs, everyone lives happily ever after. Easy. Now let’s finish the game.”
• • •
Took a couple hours to extract myself from the clubhouse that night. Helped that Talia had gotten herself wasted while I was talkin’ to Marsh, which meant she and her girls would be partying until the early hours. Seeing as I had a job to do the next day, I’d managed to escape following a quick fuck in the bathroom.
Had to say, all those years managing the strip club and I never fully appreciated what the girls went through in the VIP rooms.
Now? Yeah, let’s just say I was developing some empathy.
Grabbing a beer out of the fridge, I cracked open a new phone I’d picked up a few days ago in Omak. Still wasn’t sure whether Marsh had decided to trust me, or if it was a setup, but either way, Picnic needed an update.
He answered on the third ring.
“Aw, sugar,” he said. “Three calls in one day? You really love me, don’t you?”
“Fuck off,” I countered. “Got an update for you.”
“What’s that?”
“Playing the hard line worked. I shut Talia down and Marsh doesn’t seem to have a problem with it—all he cares about is money. Get the impression her tantrum is more about hurt pride than anything else. He wants me to run a load up to Vancouver, then bring another load back down through Oroville. Delivery to the Tri-Cities.”
“Think it’s a setup?”
“Possibly,” I said, considering the question. “But my gut tells me no. He’s not like us—he’s sloppy. No fuckin’ way a man in my position should be brought in this early, but he’s got prospects that barely know how to ride their bikes. He’s stretched thin as hell and it’s showing.”
“Guess it’s decision time, then. You up for moving forward?”
I considered the question. It was a legitimate concern—for all we knew, Marsh wanted me out of the picture. That didn’t feel right, though, and I’d learned to trust my gut over the years. “Yeah, I think it’s worth the risk. I’ll leave tomorrow. You give the boys in Bellingham a heads-up—they can help me go through the load, see what kind of intel we find. The sooner we end this shit the better.”
“You got it,” he said. “We’ll have them meet you at a truck stop in case Jackson puts a GPS on you. Should be easy enough to pull off. If you ever get asked why you stopped, just say you needed to take a shit. Sooner or later we all do.”
“This is getting more personal than it needs to be.”
Picnic laughed. “Let me know when you leave town. I’ll call Bellingham and make the arrangements. Good job. This run is exactly what we need—access to their network and proof they’re stealing from us. And I don’t care how fantastic her tits are, don’t let Tinker distract you while you’re workin’. We’ve got your back, but we can’t ride in the truck with you. Keep your focus on what really matters here, got me? I fuckin’ hate funerals.”
SEATTLE
TINKER
We pulled up to the house at eight that night. I hadn’t been back for six months, and it seemed weird how unchanged everything was. Brandon hadn’t really spent much time there while we were married, and apparently he still didn’t. Not that the house wasn’t in perfect condition—we had a service for that—but it didn’t feel lived-in. The whole place was as sterile as our marriage had been.
I got Dad and Randi settled in their rooms before heading downstairs to check out my kitchen. Much as I hated what the rest of the house had come to represent, I loved what I’d created down here. Shining metal counters, giant sink with a built-in drainboard. Beautiful stove top and the enrobing machine. Rolling tray racks.
God, I missed it.
You could just stay here, an insidious voice whispered in my head. You don’t have to go back and face that crazy bitch. Leave it all behind. Your dad’s losing his mind anyway. In a few weeks he won’t even remember living somewhere else.
“Tinker?” I spun around to find Brandon. He was tall and svelte, all perfect hair and wearing a suit that had to cost thousands. I knew his family had money, but I’d always thought it looked bad for someone on a deputy prosecutor’s salary to wear clothes that flashy. Not that it was my business at this point. The sooner we finalized the divorce, the better.
“Hi, Brandon,” I said, offering him a tight smile. “I’ll only be here a few days. Shouldn’t mess with your life too much.”