Total pages in book: 121
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 117379 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 587(@200wpm)___ 470(@250wpm)___ 391(@300wpm)
“I really need to get an apartment,” I muttered.
“No shit.”
I jumped as Skid spoke behind me. I swung around to face him, glaring. God, the man was like a fucking cat—always sneaking up and freaking me out. I think he got off on it.
I’d been staying with Hunter since he’d liberated me from Cookie’s house, which started out fun. I’d gone back a few times, of course, and still kept most of my stuff there. I couldn’t live at her place long term, though, not if I wanted to have Hunter sleeping with me. Cookie didn’t want me bringing guys home, and the last thing we needed was another confrontation between Deke and my boyfriend. Somewhere Hunter could stay over had become a very high priority.
God, this house was a cesspit.
I’d made excuses for the guys at first. It’s hard to keep up with housework, especially if you’re not used to it. Clutch still couldn’t get around very easily, and they had so much to worry about with all the drama.
Yeah, after five nights here I could officially call bullshit on the excuses. Sure, they had to worry about the cartel. That consisted of keeping their eyes open for anything suspicious (nothing) and bitching (endlessly). I knew Hunter and Skid ran errands for Burke, and I knew that Grass held down a job of some sort … But so far as I could tell, their other primary activity was watching porn.
Oh, did I mention the extensive porn collection?
And I do mean extensive.
Kelsey and I got drunk together Sunday night and she filled me in. She was sleeping with Skid, something I couldn’t quite understand a woman doing voluntarily, but she assured me she was just using him for sex. According to her, the place was a clubhouse in every way but name, seeing as Portland wasn’t an official charter. Unofficially, Hunter was acting as president, with Skid as his VP/sergeant at arms. Grass and Clutch were muscle.
All of them were pigs.
I turned to look at Skid, who stood in the doorway behind me.
“Got any suggestions?” I asked. “I need somewhere cheap that doesn’t smell like feet.”
He sniffed, then gave me a puzzled look.
“It doesn’t smell like feet in here.”
“No, in here it smells like mildew.”
He shook his head, frowning.
“Did Kelsey talk to you?”
“About what?” I asked.
“Her place,” he said. “She’s got a spare room and she’s having trouble making rent. I had to buy her groceries this month. She was going to see if you wanted to move in.”
“She didn’t say anything.”
“I wonder if Hunter told her not to,” he said slowly. “He’s worried she’ll be a bad influence on you. He might’ve mentioned something to her about backing off and leaving you alone. If you ask about the room, I bet she’ll say yes.”
“What the hell is up with you two, anyway?”
“Me and Hunter?”
“No, you and Kelsey.”
“Fuck if I know. When she’s horny, she comes to see me. Sometimes. Pretty sure she has at least one other guy on the side.”
“And you’re cool with that?”
He shrugged.
“I can get laid other ways, too,” he said. “No shortage of pussy. But I don’t like seeing her struggle—sharing a place would be a good solution for both of you. You should talk.”
“I will, thanks.”
Huh … That was almost … nice?
Skid nodded and took off down the hallway. Weird guy. I wasn’t nearly as scared of him these days, but I wouldn’t mind seeing less of him. I closed the toilet seat, setting my stuff on it while I grabbed a chunk of toilet paper to wipe down the counter. That’s when my phone started ringing. I glanced at the Caller ID.
Dad.
I swallowed, trying to decide if I should answer. Things were a little awkward between us, although he kept tabs on me through Kit. To say our initial conversation about Hunter hadn’t gone well was an understatement. A big understatement.
Fortunately, nothing new had happened in the whole Reapers/Devil’s Jacks/cartel triangle since the original shootings, but people weren’t exactly breathing easy these days. I think we all assumed it was just a matter of time.
I sighed and grabbed the phone. I didn’t want him worrying about me, and I knew he would if he couldn’t track me down.
“Hi, Dad.”
“Hey, Emmy,” he said. Thankfully, I could tell from the tone of his voice that there wasn’t an emergency. Lately my default assumption was disaster. “I’m just calling to find out if you’re coming home for Thanksgiving. There’s supposed to be a snowstorm tonight, figured I’d check in. You’ll want to drive during daylight tomorrow, if you plan to be here …”
I smiled despite myself. No matter how weird life got, some things about Dad never changed.
“It’s killing you that you’re not here to check the tire pressure on my winter tires, isn’t it?”
He stayed silent for a minute.