Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I don’t look back.
Chapter Fifty
“Where’s Rage?” I ask after explaining how Griff framed Frankie’s old man as Morgan’s killer to the other’s in Bear’s office on the second story of the MC.
“Skinning the neighborhood cats?” Preppy jokes, popping his suspenders with his thumbs.
“She was with Nolan in St. Augustine. They’re back now. She’s around here somewhere,” Bear, the President of the club, says.
We’ve got a lot of history between us and a shit ton of mutual respect, but I didn’t realize I had his loyalty until he just offered to help me go after Griff.
I feel unworthy and grateful, the same way I do about Frankie’s love.
“I’m still in shock you let her convince you to join your club,” I say, lighting a smoke.
Bear shrugs and looks me in the eye, man-to-man. “Would you have done any differently?”
I shake my head. “Fuck, no. I know better than anyone that it’s always better to have Rage with you than against you.”
“You two still got unresolved business,” King says.
It’s a statement, not a question. King, otherwise known as King of the Causeway, rounds out the trio in the room. These cats couldn’t be more different, but they’re tighter than a nun’s vagina. They run Logan’s Beach and everyone in it like the white trash mafia. Nothing happens in this town without them knowing.
Guns, drugs, even the fucking Twinkie truck.
“Sort of,” I say. “We talked a bit. I think we might get there though.” For the first time I’m feeling hopeful about the future.
After I kill Griff, of course. The need for retribution and vengeance has only grown with the knowledge of who really killed Morgan. I feel it spreading inside me like a welcome disease.
“You know, you say no connections, no relationships, but you’re one shit-talking motherfucker if I’ve ever met one,” Preppy says, cocking his eyebrow at me. “Cause I saw you almost take out half this fucking MC just to find her when she was standing like ten feet from you earlier.”
“If you stand in between me and her, I’ll take you out, too,” I warn, feeling myself heat and readying myself for a fight.
“Preppy’s right,” King says.
“I am?” Preppy’s eyes widen in shock.
King lights a cigarette and continues. “It’s not just the girl either. You say you ain’t on no one’s side, yet you saved Preppy in the hospital. He wasn’t one of your jobs. He wasn’t your business.”
I think about his words and reply with a half-truth. “No, but I had another job at that hospital. Didn’t need any shit going down while I was trying to move bodies from the morgue.”
“Oh, shut the fuck up, Smokey,” Preppy says.
I don’t have time to warn him about his upcoming death if he calls me Smokey again because the kid talks without taking a breath between sentences. Rapid fire. A tongue like a Gatling gun.
“You didn’t have to do shit to help me, and you know it. You could have done your job without getting involved in our shit. You did it because you wanted to.”
Fucker was right, I could have, but that didn’t mean I was going to admit it.
“Trust me. This will go so much easier if you just admit it,” King says. “Also, it will get him to shut the fuck up faster.”
“Admit what?” I ask, wondering exactly what this fucker is getting at.
Preppy places his hand on my shoulder, and I glare at it like he’s just stabbed my grandma, but he ignores my unease.
“That you loooove us,” he sings.
“Can’t we just do this the old-fashioned way and stab each other? Or maybe a rousing game of Russian Roulette?” I ask. “That could be fun.” I down the glass of whiskey Bear hands me. “I thought you three were ruthless sons-of-bitches. Can’t we just have a shoot-out like the good old days?”
King chuckles and shakes his head. He’s got a smile on his face that tells me he’s been there before, but there is still no way I’m admitting to anything. He adjusts the thick black studded belts he wears wrapped around his forearms. They aren’t for decoration. They’re weapons and I’ve seen a motherfucker or two meet their end with one of King’s belts wrapped around their fucking necks.
“How about a compromise?” I ask, flicking Preppy’s hand off my shoulder.
“What kind of compromise you thinking, darlin’?” Bear cocks his head, and much to my dismay, he seems amused rather than annoyed.
“I’ll admit that…there are a lot of other people I’d rather kill than you three,” I offer. “It’s the best I’ve got.”
“Sounds like Rage’s club pledge,” Preppy mutters. He straightens his bow tie and claps his hands together. He bows his head then glances back up with a huge smile on his face that seems off for someone whose been through all he has. “You dooooo love us!” he exclaims, bouncing on his heels. “I could just kiss you. Come here, you big, burly bitch.”