Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 67795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67795 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 339(@200wpm)___ 271(@250wpm)___ 226(@300wpm)
This is why I hate relying on anyone but my brothers, but especially some phony pious asshole like Frank Braden, who pretends to be one thing when he’s something else entirely.
“I know,” he sighs and shrugs off my shoulder. “I think we ought to end our professional relationship. This isn’t right. I am a man of God.”
I roll my eyes and growl. “Save the bullshit for your idiot parishioners. I know exactly who the fuck you are, Braden. The guy who’s willing to get in bed with men he pretends to hate, all to keep up the image that you’re some benevolent, kind-hearted man of God.”
I grip his shoulder again, this time hard enough to make him wince. “Now, get me my fucking money.”
He nods. “I’ll give you all of your money, and this is the last time I see you. Unless you decide to show up and worship with us on Sunday.”
I let out a loud bark of laughter that sends a few birds fleeing the treetops. “Fat fucking chance of that.”
“Mr. Hollister, please.”
“Frank,” I mimic and shake my head as I look past the gardens to the smaller buildings on the tax-free plot of land owned by Destiny of Life.
“You’re really not in a position to negotiate. It would be a real shame if that brand new elementary school lost its funding, especially after you and all the good people of Angel Harbor worked so hard to build it.”
“Mr—Shades, stop this.”
“And that daycare that helps out all the poor single parents who think you’re a good man? It’d be a shame if it had to close down. Or if you lost the funding for the Christian high school you’re trying to build. All of those things require money, don’t they? And where does that money come from?”
“Threats are not necessary.”
“These are not threats, Braden. Think of them as foreshadowing what’s to come if you don’t give me our money now and stop talking about ending our business relationship.”
Braden’s not stupid. He knows where the money comes from. Not only are the Reckless Souls a big supporter of his endeavors, but he also takes a chunk of our money as payment to keep it clean and flowing.
He nods and finally lets his eyes meet mine. “I’d like to speak with Ace as soon as possible.”
He thinks Ace is going to be more reasonable, and he’s wrong.
“Sure, but right now, we have more important shit to deal with, so if you really want to lose everything you’ve built around here, have the talk with Ace. Later.”
“Fine.” His shoulders fall in defeat, and Braden nods. “I’ll have Letty get the cash together.”
“Good. Thanks, Frankie boy.” I flash a smile, and we turn together and follow the path back through the gardens.
“You think it’s distasteful when I show up to get money, but you’re happy as a pig in shit when I drop off bags of cash so your church folk will keep thinking you’re a good man.”
“I am a good man, Shades. At least I try to be.”
I laugh bitterly and shake my head as we step inside the church. “I’ll keep your secret if you stop pretending that I can’t see right through you.”
Frank says nothing, just takes on a pissed-off expression as he walks down to Letty’s office and knocks on the door.
I wonder what the bitchy princess is going to say.
Chapter Five
Letty
I spot Pastor Braden and the biker as they head back toward the church. I turn my focus back to the computer program in front of me so it looks as if I’ve been working and not trying to lip-read the conversation between the two men.
A knock sounds a few seconds later, and I sit up straight and smooth my hands over my hair before letting them come to rest in my lap.
“Come in.” I turn toward the door with a polite smile on my face. “How can I help you, Pastor?”
Too late, I notice his expression and the fact that he isn’t alone.
“Letty, this is Shades, and he’s the proprietor of one of the small businesses in town that the church assists with…things. Whatever he needs, give it to him. Please.”
I frown at his words and, more than that, the tone in which he says them because it doesn’t make sense. None of it does. “Are you sure?”
“He’s sure,” the man, Shades, answers with a smirk.
I turn back toward my computer and pull up one of the many spreadsheets on my desktop.
“Okay, what is the small business, and what do you need Mr. Shades?” I don’t turn around because once again, I can feel the weight of his stare at the back of my head.
“It’s just Shades,” he corrects and steps around the pastor, the thunk of his heavy biker boots on the wood floor the only sound in the room.