Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 384(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
“Yo, get out here,” a voice called from the living room, making Fallon and I exchange a look before walking out to find Croft standing there in nothing but sleep pants, his gaze laser-focused on the TV.
“What—“ I started, but then I saw it.
News footage of the fish store up in flames. A blazing fucking inferno, actually. The fire department was struggling to make any progress.
“Don’t look at me,” I said, shaking my head at Fallon. “We didn’t do this,” I added. Sure, it would have been an easier way to cover up any evidence. But we didn’t usually solve our problems with arson.
We were still watching the news coverage, everyone silent and lost in our own thoughts, when suddenly the door opened, and in walked… fucking Andres Alcazar.
“‘Morning,” he called out like his appearance was an everyday occurrence. “Brought some bagels,” he said, holding up a big brown bag full of said bagels as a pittie walked in beside him, its gaze eyeing us up, trying to decide if we were friends or foes.
“It was you,” I said, thinking about what Jax’s man, Dante, had said about the dead man being one of Andres’s guys.
“Ya got me,” he said with a slow, wicked little smirk. “Couldn’t let the cops get all those goodies you all left in the walk-in freezer, now, could I?” he asked.
By ‘goodies’ he meant half a dozen boxes full of bricks of heroin.
“Did you know they’d killed one of your men?” I asked.
“Had my suspicions,” he said, walking into the kitchen like he belonged there as the dog sniffed around the common room. “You guys got butter, I hope,” he said, placing the bagels on the counter. “I bought some cream cheeses. Got lot of fucking choices these days. Look at this: cinnamon sugar. Not my thing, but that fucker you got around here always has a sweet tooth. Got plates?” he asked.
Croft tilted his head and fetched them.
“Aw, come on. Why the long faces? Way I see it, we all had a successful night last night, no?”
“Oh, hi, sweetie!” Cali cooed from the other room, making me shift position to see her squatting down as the pittie walked to her, its whole body moving its tail was wagging so hard. “You are the sweetest thing, aren’t you?” she asked as the dog started to lick her face.
“Your girl likes dogs, huh?” Andres asked with a strange smile I didn’t understand before he moved out to talk to Cali as the dog attempted to crawl inside her skin it was so close.
“Hope you like dogs, man,” Fallon said with a smirk. “‘Cause that fucker is going to drop one off on your doorstep in the near future. Mark my fucking words.”
Honestly, I’d never had many feelings either way about having a dog. I liked the ones that the guys brought around the club, but I never gave a thought to having my own.
But if one would make her smile that she was flashing at A’s dog, I was fucking game.
“I have some bad news,” Cali told me as she walked into the kitchen, face severe, making my stomach tense. “I have a new love in my life. His name is Pepe. And he is very fond of kissing me.”
“Who wouldn’t be?” I asked, pressing my lips to her forehead. “I called you out of work.”
“I saw the texts from Sage.”
“What did she say?”
“Nothing tame enough to share in mixed company,” she said, giving me a smile. “Oh, bagels. Is that cinnamon sugar cream cheese?” she asked, brightening even more. “That’s my favorite.”
“Where the fuck did A go?” Fallon asked, looking around.
“The guy with the dog? He said he had to go to the bookstore,” she said, shrugging, oblivious to the events of the evening and morning. “So… do you like dogs?” she asked, looking up at me as she smeared cinnamon sugar cream cheese onto a cinnamon raisin bagel.
It looked like Fallon was right.
If Andres didn’t drop off a dog, I was gonna have to go and pick out one myself for her.
Cali - 4 weeks
“We don’t have to do this!” Brooks called out over the roar of the small plane’s engine.
My entire body was vibrating.
Whether that was from the plane or my anxiety was anyone’s guess.
The instructor seemed wholly unfazed by my deer eyes and the way my arms were thrown back around Brooks’s neck, our bodies bound together with the two-person harness we were strapped into.
We’d hemmed and hawed our configuration for a while, debating if I would be better off being the one, essentially, on his back. But that was the position of the person who had to pull the parachute, and we were worried I would be too freaked out to have good reaction times. So I was attached to his chest. That normally meant I would be the one facing out of the plane, staring down at almost certain death.