Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73680 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 368(@200wpm)___ 295(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
“What were you doing before that?”
“Other shit.” He returns his attention to the book.
Fair enough. I’m not about to give him my life story either. I look around the room for something to do until the others wake up. In the corner is one of those ancient TVs that’s as deep as it’s wide, with a big slot underneath it. Wait. “Blade, does that TV work?”
“No fucking idea.”
“But that slot under it, that’s a tape player, right?”
Now he glances up. “Yeah, it is.”
The video tape. It’s what started this whole thing. Dad wants it, the Pit Vipers want it, and now I’ve got a chance to see what’s so important about it. I dive for my satchel, push Ollie aside and pull the tape out.
“Faith.” Blade’s tone is one of warning. “Are you sure you want to do that?”
I whirl on him. “You know what’s on it.” It’s not a question. I thought this was a mystery, but he’s known all along, hasn’t he?
“No, I don’t—”
“Don’t lie to me.”
He sighs. “I don’t, but think about it, Faith. It’s not going to be your second grade recital.”
“Duh.” The hard plastic digs into my fingers as I clutch the tape. “You think it’s Dad?”
Blade doesn’t answer, which is pretty much a yes. What has Dad done? Why is this so important? And why did someone give it to me?
“I have to know.”
I expect him to object again, but he nods, understanding. “I warned you, just remember that.”
Fuzzy static fills the screen when I press the button on the front. There’s no signal or cable out here, so I can’t imagine it’s been used for anything other than watching videos. I look at the tape, then at the slot. No turning back.
The tape vanishes into the machine and something mechanical starts to whirr. It sounds like it’s chewing it up in there. Does it work properly? Is it grinding the tape while I sit here waiting? But finally a grainy picture comes up on the screen. I move closer to see.
It looks like a gas station security camera, the video taken from above the pumps. Nothing’s happening, at least that I can make out. It’s nighttime, but the pumps are well lit up. Something in the background, maybe?
Nothing.
I play with the controls, until I figure out how to speed it up. Gray, staticky stripes blur the view, but I can see well enough to slow it back down to regular speed when two motorcycles finally enter the picture.
The unidentifiable riders get off and start pumping gas. A moment later, two more bikes pull up. Even through the grainy quality, one stands out right away. He looks about ten years younger, but that’s definitely Dad.
There’s no sound, but I lean in closer as if that’ll make me hear better anyway. From what I can make out, they all look like they’re wearing Pit Viper patches.
They’re arguing, that’s obvious. Dad’s furious. I know he’s got a temper, but it was never aimed at me, so this is something I’ve never seen. The guy he rode up with is holding him back, like he’s expecting things to turn physical any second. Is that Razor?
“Faith—” starts Blade.
I wave him off. “I have to see.”
One of the first bikers is shouting. I really wish I could hear what they’re saying. Then suddenly, he charges. The guy with Dad jumps aside, but Dad throws himself into the fight, grabbing the biker by the arm and using his momentum against him. Dad slams the guy’s face into the gas pump. Ouch. Even without hearing the meaty crunch, I can imagine it.
The other biker pulls a gun, but Dad’s friend kicks it out of his hands, and then they’re down on the ground, rolling and punching.
Dad pulls the one guy away from the pump and slams him against it again. This time the guy collapses and lies still. It’s not long before both of the original bikers are propped up against the gas pump, barely moving.
Club justice. I don’t like it, but I still don’t understand why this tape is so important. Beatdowns like these happen. It hasn’t been so long since I lived near the club that I’ve forgotten that.
But then Dad pulls out a gun.
Oh no.
He kicks the boots of the closest one of the slumped over guys, getting his attention. The biker shakily lifts his head. Those guys are barely conscious. Why is he aiming a gun? They aren’t fighting back anymore. Dad’s friend seems agitated, his mouth moving rapidly. I wish I could hear what they’re saying.
Dad says something, and then everything turns to chaos.
Even without hearing the gun go off, I still jump at the muzzle flashes. The head of one of the bikers flings backwards in a shower of blood before he lands flat on the pavement. Another flash and the other guy lands on top of him.