Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122097 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
“Are you kidding me right now? Do you really think you’re the only teenager in the history of rock and roll who ever had a Jim Morrison poster on his fucking bedroom wall? She sells. Retro. Items!”
“This is such bullshit. She had my shirts in the closet.”
“Oh, my God.” She’s not laughing now. She’s looking at me like I’m the crazy one, not Lowyn. “You’re…” She blinks and shakes her head. “You’re insane. She has not kept your smelly, gross t-shirts from high school in the closet for twelve years. You saw t-shirts. Vintage fucking t-shirts, Collin. From Trinity High.”
Is she right? Did I get this whole thing wrong?
“Stay away from my sister, do you hear me, Collin Creed? I don’t know why you’re here, or what’s going on with Amon and Grimm or whatever, but you stay the fuck away from my sister.”
Then she turns on her heel, walks over to her car—where Lowyn is waiting in the passenger seat—gets in, and drives away.
Lowyn watched that entire encounter. I slam the door and pace the small room. What the hell? Lowyn has never been confrontational like Bryn, so I guess the proxy ambush makes sense, but what the hell? Lowyn just sat there and watched as Bryn tried to make me look like a crazy asshole.
I get dressed, grab my keys, and drive the Jeep down to Grimm’s office. Thirty minutes later, papers all signed, money all wired, I am the new proud owner of an ex-mining town.
When I get back to the motel Amon is there waiting for me, breakfast with parents over, already packed.
“Everything good?” He’s got his eyebrows raised, like maybe Rosie Harlow has already filled him on the way I got everything wrong about Lowyn and Bryn pointed her finger in my face.
I don’t answer. Just grab my duffle and put the town of Disciple behind me.
Our new compound is not in Disciple, it’s about eight miles outside city limits. That’s why it’s perfect—not subject to any of the town regulations as far as what we do with the land, but still close enough to be convenient.
Though I won’t be going into Disciple for my fucking groceries. I’m so done with it. It’s not even like I have family there. Amon is my family. Nash is my family. Ryan is my family.
Everyone else can just fuck off. I will buy gas, milk, and bread in Bishop from now on.
We found this property online, so this is actually the first time we’ve seen it in person. Nash was skeptical about spending so much money on something sight-unseen, but realistically speaking, we didn’t have a lot of choices. We were looking for a very specific type of property in a very limited geographical location and this is the only one that ticked all the boxes.
When I pull the Jeep into the long, gravel driveway, the first thing I see is the used armored truck, recently acquired. It’s parked inside the carport attached to the first house, so obviously Ryan and Nash are here.
The compound has fourteen houses in various sizes and states of repair. Plus a barn, the church, a huge metal building—not original—that looks like a community center, and several smaller outbuildings. Chicken coops, run-in sheds for livestock, and tool sheds—stuff like that. Most of the eighty-nine acres is wooded—really thick West Virginia forest—and hilly too. But at least twenty acres, where the houses all are, is flat and grassy. There’s also a big pond with a dock, two small streams, and a valley with no fewer than three excellent spots for the shooting range.
I cut the engine of the Jeep and just kind of sit there, taking it all in.
“It’s great, right?”
I look over at Amon and nod. “It really is.”
Amon grins. “All right, let’s do this.” A moment later he’s out, already crossing the expansive lawn and heading towards the church.
But I allow myself another moment. Because this is kind of a big deal. Actually, it’s the biggest of deals. We didn’t all make it, and we lost more than we ever gained since this whole thing started, but those of us who got out alive will at least have this.
More than just a job.
More than just a base of operations.
This place will be our sanctuary.
Nash Skinner is a California boy. Monterey born and bred, so he’s a rich fuck too. We’ve known each other for ten years now and I still don’t quite understand how he went from silver-spoon trust fund to one of the most dangerous men on the planet.
With dark hair and eyes, a body built like the Hulk, and the reflexes of an MMA fighter, he comes off as formidable and scary. Which he is. How else would we have ever met?
Nash has a huge family out west and they all own a part of some famous beachside inn. His brothers and sisters bought him out last year and he got a windfall of nearly one million that he chipped in for the new business we’re starting.