Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115086 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 575(@200wpm)___ 460(@250wpm)___ 384(@300wpm)
“I’m out. Free and clear of Uncle Sam. Been hanging at Chloe and Rocket’s for the past few days.”
“Shit, congrats, I think. How’s it feel?” He opened the tailgate of his truck and started loading his purchases.
“Thanks.” Scott laughed. “Feels weird as fuck. Keep thinking I’m on leave for a few days, and I’ll be back on base before I know it. Then I remember I’m basically homeless, jobless, and totally without purpose in life.”
“Well, man, I can give you some purpose in about five seconds.” They could use him and his expertise in planning and conducting covert operations. Curly had no doubt Scott would have a few suggestions on how to put an end to Prick. Or at least his dirty fucking business.
Scott’s laugh came quick. “Shit, man, you making trouble already?”
While Harley watched his every move from her throne at the top of the cart, he finished loading up the truck. “Yeah, well, there are motherfuckers messing shit up everywhere you go.”
“Ain’t that the fucking truth.” Gone was the teasing and relaxed quality of Scott’s voice. “When do you need me?”
“If you need time to decompress and get your head straight after such a big change, there’s no rush.” Hell, Curly took half a year to hang out with Holly and the Hell’s Handlers crew in Tennessee before he made any move toward a plotting future. “But if you’re ready to rock and roll, I’d be grateful to have you now.”
“Don’t need time. I’m better when I got something to focus on. Shit goes downhill when I’m idle.” Scott cleared his throat. “I’m good to get my ass to Florida whenever.”
If he’d known Scott better, Curly might have tried to dig around in his brain a little. After being a Green Beret in the army for over a decade, he was bound to have scars both mentally and physically. Like many in the military, prisoners often experienced symptoms of PTSD. It’d be better to know upfront whether Scott had any triggers that could potentially be an issue for the club. For now, he’d keep a close eye on the guy. If shit hit the fan…well, they’d cross the bridge when it happened.
“I’m gonna clue Chloe in on my plans tonight. Figure I’ll need a day or two for her to get over her being mad at me not sticking around Tennessee, then I’ll ride your way. So, expect me maybe Saturday? Sunday at the latest.”
That’d still give them a week until the dog fight. They could work with a week. Maybe Scott could help them come up with an idea to shut it all down without having to wait until the next fight.
“Sounds perfect. I’ll text you my address. Crash at my place until you get your shit sorted. Seriously, brother. As long as you need.”
“Thanks, Curly. Appreciate that. Anything you need from me right now?”
“Nah.” He scooped Harley up, enduring an attack of slobbery puppy kisses as he walked to the driver’s side door. “Enjoy the time with your sister. I’ll fill you in when you get down here.” The guy deserved at least a bit of a break before jumping into his new life as the enforcer of a budding MC.
“Perfect, bro. Think Copper mentioned he’d be calling you for an update in the next day or two, so be on the lookout for that.”
“Thanks for the heads up. Got a bunch of stuff to run by him as well.” He wished Scott a good trip then hit the road back to his house. Since arriving in Florida, he’d been so busy fixing up the house and yard, most of his traveling had required his truck. He was itching to get on a bike ride until his mind cleared. Maybe within the next day or two, he could drop Harley with Brooke and take a ride along the gulf coast.
Or, better idea, maybe he could leave Harley with her boyfriend Ray, and Brooke could join him for a half-day ride. She’d feel damn good plastered along his back as he cruised the sunny coast. They could stop for some mouth-watering seafood and see where the day took them.
Only problem with that plan was it sounded like a date. And he had no interest in a date. Then again, neither did Brooke. Still, the idea of cruising the coast with her was almost too good to resist. Her company was as appealing as her body.
A loud whine behind him had him checking the rear-view mirror. “Fuck my ass,” he muttered as flashing lights drew closer by the second. What were the chances they were their way to an accident a mile up the road?
Curly pulled over to the right, and the cop followed.
Zero. Then chances were zero.
What the fuck had he done to warrant them pulling him over? Sure, he’d been lost in his head thinking about Brooke, but he hadn’t been speeding or blown a stop sign.