Total pages in book: 87
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80902 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 405(@200wpm)___ 324(@250wpm)___ 270(@300wpm)
The old couple comes back out with their cones, and the wife is still looking at me like I sacrifice kittens on the weekends in spite of doing absolutely fucking nothing but exist in her line of sight. In our territory, everyone might not love us, but being in the Screaming Eagles gets us a certain amount of respect.
“What are you…?” Shelby follows my gaze. “What a bitch,” she murmurs under her breath.
Impulsively, I pull her into my lap. Partly because I fucking want to, and partly to make it obvious to anyone who sees us that Shelby and Mia are with me. Shelby lets out a little squeak and her arm goes around my shoulder to steady herself. As soon as her ass hits my lap I know I made a mistake, because this feels way too fucking good. I try to shift her off but she flicks her long brown hair off her shoulder and leans in.
“Let her look. You aren’t doing anything wrong.” Shelby reaches over and picks up what’s left of her milkshake. She wraps her lips around the end of the paper straw and sucks.
Fuck. There’s about to be a whole new reason she shouldn’t be sitting where she is. Her eyes go wide when she notices, and the cup wobbles when she lowers her arm. There’s a bead of strawberry milkshake on her lip, and I reach up and brush it away with my thumb, knowing exactly what the fuck I’m doing, but doing it anyway. Her gaze goes soft, and she doesn’t take her eyes off my hand as I bring my thumb to my lips and lick away the melted ice cream.
Someone coughs nearby, and it’s enough to launch Shelby off my lap and to her feet. She spins around. “Tracy! Hi!”
I adjust my position to minimize the show, but by the smirk on the face of the woman who came up, it’s too late. Whatever, let her fucking look. I’ve got nothing to hide.
“Hey, Shel. Is it okay if I pick up Mia with Rosie on Tuesday? The girls want to play. I said it’s fine by me if it’s all right with you. She can stay for dinner.”
“Yeah! Yeah. That’s fine,” Shelby blurts out, cheeks flushed pink.
“Who’s your friend?”
“Sorry, Tracy this is Havoc, Havoc, Tracy. The girls go to the same sitter for daycare.”
I stand and hold out my hand. “Nice to meet you.”
Tracy takes it, not at all bothered by the ink, scars or leather cut, proudly proclaiming exactly who I am. “Havoc? I bet you are. Nice job, Shel.”
“He’s not—I’m not—We’re just old friends,” she stammers.
“Too bad,” Tracy says, eyebrows raised.
And the damn thing is, I fucking agree.
10
PHOENIX
There are lights on in some of the houses, but it’s mostly dark as I ride slowly through the neighborhood that nearly got me killed the other night. Is it stupid to be out here on my own? Probably, but I fucking gotta do something or I’m going to go nuts. My head hardly hurts at all anymore when I shake it.
Good enough, right?
Ice runs down my spine as I get closer to the scene of the crash, like my body knows shit my mind still doesn’t remember clearly. Shelby's place looks dead to the world. Guessing she and Mia are asleep. Not that I planned on stopping by, much as I'd fucking love to get my eyes on her.
I roll to a stop under the streetlight near where she found me. Don’t want to be too suspicious in case a concerned neighbor calls the cops on me, but I need to see.
The skidmarks are almost invisible in the dark.
Fuck, it drives me crazy that I have these damn holes in my memory. That there are things I know I've fucking seen and done, and I can't remember them. Doc checked me out and agreed with Emily. There’s nothing wrong that rest and time won’t fix, but I can’t shake the thought that being here where it happened might jog my memory.
I look up and down the street like the answers are waiting for me, just hiding behind someone's trash can or something. Not surprisingly, there's nothing.
I shouldn't have fucking bothered.
What the fuck did I expect to find? A note? Fuck.
I keep going, retracing the path I took that night. It takes me through the neighborhood in a different direction from the clubhouse. The road turns, carrying me with it. Bunch of cookie cutter ranch houses, just like the one Shelby's renting from Sledge. Little boxes on a hillside, little boxes all the same…
My eyes snag on a black truck, parked in one of the driveways. Flashes from the crash flip through my brain like a slideshow missing half the slides. I stop in front of the driveway.
There are gray stripes painted on either side. Did the one that hit me have stripes? I don’t fucking know, damn it. The way my brain refuses to clarify, to show me the images that I know it's got stored in there, drives me fucking crazy. I'm doing my best, but fuck, man.