Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 344(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
We hit with a deathly sounding crash.
The airbags in the wheel deployed. Glass crunched. The world around me exploded.
But I never lost consciousness.
However, my chest did hurt like a motherfucker.
At hearing a hissing, popping, ticking sound, I finally blinked open my eyes and wished that I hadn’t.
Everything hurt worse, it seemed, when I could see.
I looked sideways over to the seat next to me and was surprised to see Ivan Broussard sticking halfway through my front windshield, legs first.
He was staring at me with horror.
The crash had obviously woken him up from his stupor.
Likely the pain.
He opened his mouth, then closed it.
Opened it again.
Then blood started to run out of his mouth.
“Holy fuckin’ shit.” I heard Sin growl from beside me.
I looked past the still floundering Ivan to see Sin and Laric standing beside the passenger side door.
Both were sporting bruises. Both were staring in surprise. Both had blood running down their faces. What they did not have were any bad outward signs of trauma.
Thank fucking God.
I kicked open the door, using my shoulder to put some muscle into it, and immediately wished I hadn’t. Mostly because I looked over sideways and saw a piece of the mangled car now bloody from my shoulder bump.
“Shit,” I said as I looked down at my now-bleeding arm. “That hurt.”
I’d gotten the door open, though.
“Wait.”
The croaked word had me turning to stare at Ivan.
“…Dumas.” He was speaking. “At.” He coughed and blood splattered all over the tennis shoes on Six’s floorboard. “My. House.” He coughed again. “Cabin.”
“He’s not at your house, motherfucker,” Laric said. “He’s currently bleeding to death on the asphalt behind me. Seems like someone didn’t want you going with us to share secrets. You’re dead, and now he is, too. Or close.”
CHAPTER 19
On a scale of one to ten, how much do you dream about chocolate?
-Text from Six to Lynn
SIX
“Hello?”
“Six,” Bruno said. “Lynn, Sin and Laric were all in an accident. They’re on their way back to the house. Can you call your friend Wyett? I called Zach, but it’s going to take him an hour to get here because he was halfway to his parents’ place in Benton, Louisiana.”
I was immediately running toward the hall phone.
“Yes,” I said. “Is he okay?”
“Bumps and bruises. Three possible concussions. But they’re up moving and walking, refusing to go to the hospital. The usual,” he answered.
“How’d you know that they were hurt?” I asked.
“Got a tracker on your car. One that has accident protection. Lynn told me as y’all were leaving your place that they were going to talk to your dad. I knew that you weren’t there and they were. Then I listened to the police scanner as the call went out,” he answered. “Be there in ten. They’ll be there in fifteen.”
Then he hung up, leaving me with knots in my throat.
“Shit,” I said as I placed the call to Wyett.
“I need your help,” I said the moment that she answered.
Fifteen minutes later, Wyett and Lynn were arriving at almost the same time.
Wyett had just pulled into the driveway when Lynn pulled up with Sin and Laric. They all looked pissed as hell as they got out of the unfamiliar blue truck.
As Lynn stepped out onto the grass, his face squeezed out a pain-filled grimace that had me rushing toward him.
He pulled me into his arms once I was close enough.
“I’m okay,” he assured me.
“I know,” I lied.
He laughed at my unconvincing lie.
“All right, let’s get those heads checked out.” Wyett clapped, pulling a bag out of her car.
Bruno took it from her and gestured toward the wide-open front door.
“Let’s go,” he urged.
We all went, and it wasn’t missed how stiffly Lynn seemed to walk as he headed in with the others.
“What happened?” I found myself asking as we moved.
“What happened was we took your dad, someone made an SOS call for him, and instead of saving him, Bruno’s father ran into us so hard that your father was thrown from the vehicle,” he replied.
Bruno stopped and turned. “You found him?”
“He found us,” Sin said. “And died. He should’ve probably put on his seatbelt before he started to hit people with his car.”
“My dad?” I asked, not really wanting to hear the answer, but knowing that I needed to.
“In the emergency room via ambulance.” Lynn’s eyes met mine. “It doesn’t look good, baby. He’s probably not going to make it.”
I nodded. “What did you find out?”
He went on to explain the phone call that he’d overheard as they walked up, then what happened after they left.
Ending with, “We need to go find the orderly and the gas station attendant,” Sin suggested. “It had to be one of them.”
“It was the orderly,” Bruno said as he dropped his phone onto the counter. “He tried to hightail it out of the state. Got pulled over by one of our boys. He dropped your name, hoping it would get him out of the ticket. It didn’t. The guy confessed to everything—calling Dumas mainly—and Tripp hadn’t even asked for the information.” He paused. “He took him into lockup for excessive and unsafe speeds. He’ll be in there until we can get him out.”