Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
"I, ah, that depends. Do people still Tootsie Roll and Cha Cha Slide?" I asked, smiling at the laugh that moved through his chest.
"Judging by the very intricately choreographed shit I see my daughter and her friends practicing, we have advanced well beyond the nineties greats."
"We will never advance beyond them, but I am willing to concede that the world has moved on without me in that one regard. No dancing."
"Good. Because I don't even know where to go if you wanted to dance anyway," Colson admitted, shrugging, moving my body with his.
"I don't think my feet would accept being in pretty heels to go dancing anyway. I've been in mama flats for fourteen years."
"Maybe we can just order food in," he suggested.
"And watch a movie," I decided.
"Without the kids," he added.
"And with comfy pants on," I specified.
"Sounds perfect," he agreed.
"God, we're old, huh?"
"Seems that way."
"And kinda lame."
"We'll probably even grumble at the movie for using too many curse words," he agreed.
"And fall asleep before it is over. I don't think I have finished a movie in five years."
"I, unfortunately, know the end of every teen romantic drama. Amazingly, apparently all seventeen-year-old relationships that start as a love triangle somehow end up in a happily-ever-after."
"Isn't someone always disappointed?"
"Somehow, no. Or even if they are, some secret comes out that they were a dick all along, so no one feels bad for them anyway."
"Well that works out perfectly. Just like real life," I said, snorting.
"Hey, sometimes real life isn't that bad," he said, arms giving me a squeeze.
"Yeah," I agreed, feeling my lips curve up—content, hopeful.
Blissfully unaware of what was still to come.
TWELVE
Colson
We waited it out for three days.
Lo and Roan—who seemed to have the most experience in reconnaissance work—convinced Reign that they needed more time, that they needed to watch the movements of the members, work out the hierarchy.
It also gave them time to question Tyler in the basement. Finding out things like how much information he'd fed to his friends in Third Street, if he exposed any serious security secrets to them, how he'd fucked with Reign's bike to make it break down on the side of the road the night he was taken.
I didn't ask about the sudden lack of trips to the basement after day two, knowing that they weren't going anymore because he wasn't there anymore. Because they'd gotten what they'd needed, and Pagan had either beaten him to death, or Roan had snapped his neck, or Reign had put a bullet between his eyes.
What I suspected, though, was that they hadn't needed the three days to get it all figured out. It was more likely that they wanted to give Reign the time to recoup he wouldn't have given himself. I could see it in the worried looks Lo cast at his back when he wasn't looking, doting on him because he wouldn't allow Summer to be at the clubhouse to do so until all of this was handled.
He was hurting. Even if he wouldn't admit it. Even if he wouldn't take the drugs the doctors had prescribed for him, not wanting to be slow if or when we had to jump into action.
Fallon was never far from him, moving in to open bottle or jar tops before Reign could even attempt to do so by himself, saving him the embarrassment of having to ask for help.
It could not have been easy for a proud man to feel like he needed to be taken care of. And I didn't figure it mattered to him that he'd literally been strung up and tortured, and that not a single one of us was looking at him as though he was weak. He felt like he needed to be strong, to be the leader everyone expected. Even if that meant we constantly found him gritting his teeth, trying to pretend sudden movements didn't make his ribs scream, or keeping busy when he clearly wanted to be able to sit still.
In a fucked up sort of way, it would almost be better for him when the plan was carried out, when Third Street was taken out—if they hadn't run already—and then he could go home, let his woman and kids fuss over him.
"It's his good shooting arm," Lo whispered to Roan, both of them glancing toward Reign.
"Then I will stand in front of him," Fallon said, chin lifting. "We didn't get him back to lose him. I'll be his good shooting arm."
And with that, there were no other objections to the plan, no other lines of bullshit they could throw at Reign to keep him from knowing what their motives were.
"Colson—" Reign started after the plan was discussed, the exact details, everyone's roles.
"I'm going," I said, shaking my head.
"I know this part of it, this has never been your thing," Reign said, shaking his head. "And I don't hold that against you."