Total pages in book: 130
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 121990 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Roach scowled. “That wasn’t an offer. That was a scrap thrown my way out of fear. I bet you would have split before we even got to a motel.”
“You will never know. Now eat the salad. It’s good for you,” Zane said through the giant balls of burger meat filling his cheeks.
Roach added more alcohol to his Coke after all. His heart started pounding before he dared to voice his request. Still, he lowered his voice. “I’d rather eat your ass.”
Zane stalled, and Roach got no small amount of satisfaction from knowing that for the tiniest moment he’d managed to shock this outrageous, sexy man. “Dream on,” Zane said in the end, but his voice shook, even if only slightly.
Roach sighed and kicked Zane under the table just for the sake of it. He glanced out of the window, at the rows of trucks, unable to comprehend how he’d ended up in this booth with Zane. He wasn’t religious, and he’d never believed in things like fate, so divine punishment wasn’t something he considered either. In his experience, life happened, and sometimes you were lucky, sometimes it was shit. Actions had consequences, but not of the mystical kind. More like—you sold guns, there was a chance you’d end up in prison. And then if you were lucky, you buried four bodies, and no one ever found out.
That was life.
Out in the parking lot, the door to one of the trucks burst open, and Gale all but fell out, scrambling on his hands and knees as a large guy slid out after him.
“What the fuck?” Zane mumbled, spotting the same thing.
“Wait here,” Roach said and got up without looking back at Zane.
When the trucker pulled on Gale’s pale denim jacket and tried to shove him back into his cab, Roach ran.
He burst out of the diner. “Hey! Hey, fucker in the green shirt!” he screamed out before he reached the scene, adrenaline buzzing in his head along with the bourbon. Each second counted, and as soon as the bastard looked back, he shoved at Gale, who fell over inside the truck.
Green Shirt’s sun-kissed face remained stern, as if he feared nothing and no one. Shit.
“Get lost.”
But Gale latched on to the opportunity offered by Roach’s presence as if it were the last branch he could grab before the river carried him to the waterfall. “Reed! Reed, he’s a creep. I want out!”
And so, the trucker’s fate was sealed.
“No! You let him out, and leave.”
“I paid for his time, so fuck off!” The guy shoved at Roach the moment he got close enough. “If you’re his pimp, tell ‘im to do his job.”
Green Shirt had eyes like a rabid dog, with pupils wide as if he’d just snorted coke, so Roach didn’t count on him listening to reason. He grabbed on the guy’s collar, pulled him close, and used the momentum to head butt him.
“Get outta here, Gale!”
But the white cowboy boots didn’t move. “Help! Someone help,” Gale cried in a broken, raspy tone the moment Green Shirt’s fist collided with Roach’s abdomen with surprising force.
Goddamn.
Roach slammed his elbow into the bastard’s neck and stepped back, creating distance between them, because he needed to act strategically if he was to minimize damage.
Gale let out a sob, but when he called out for help again, Green Shirt stormed toward him so fast Roach barely made it between them.
Gray eyes met green, but something flashed in the cold gaze, and the man stepped back.
“What the hell’s going on?” asked an older trucker with a large belly protruding above his belt. There were two younger men with him, one of whom still had his hair messy from sleep.
Silence and tension made the air dense, but just as Roach expected the bastard to snap, Green Shirt shook his head and stepped toward his cab. “The dirty fag was coming onto me,” he said and spat on the asphalt, as if he wanted Gale to know he was trash.
Roach’s stomach hurt. He wasn’t looking forward to checking whether his stitches were intact, but he pulled Gale under his arm despite knowing the other men would stare and have their shit opinions about it. It didn’t matter. Gale didn’t deserve such treatment.
But he wouldn’t let people walk all over him and addressed the other truckers, pointing at the shut cab. “You believe that shit?”
The three men assessed him for a moment, but then walked off, shaking their heads and muttering something. Fair enough.
“You okay? The fuck was that?” Roach asked, but as he pulled Gale close, he couldn’t ignore the fact that his shoulders seemed bonier than ever before.
Gale shrugged but didn’t try to pull away, and followed Roach’s lead. When his eyes were cast down in misery, even the glint of his diamante ear studs couldn't brighten the dullness of his complexion.