Total pages in book: 128
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 119454 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 597(@200wpm)___ 478(@250wpm)___ 398(@300wpm)
Just listen and I’d get an answer? I don’t know what the hell that means…
He poured the glass of juice, put a couple of pieces of bread in the toaster, then sat down at his kitchen table with the television from the living room playing the morning news. Time ticked by, and his thoughts settled for a while, only to begin racing again. He glanced at his watch. He hadn’t been home long. Earlier that morning, around 4:17 A.M. to be exact, he’d received a call about a motorcycle accident on 22nd street. The guy had run into a storefront, crashing headfirst into an automotive supply place, and died.
Pieces of him lay scattered inside the store. Once the body and the mangled bike were taken away, he and a few members of his crew began the tedious work of cleaning up the broken glass, blood, tissue, hair, torn clothing, and the like. Erasing the scene as if it never happened—to protect the citizens, the family from driving past and seeing a horrific vision of their loved one. It was just another fucking day of misery.
The man’s last ride. He shoveled a forkful of eggs into his mouth, then paused. His heart thumped so damn hard, it reminded him of the shitty high school band rehearsing on the field. Out of tune, obnoxiously loud.
She said the old stuff… loyal… Just listen and I’d get an answer…
He got up from his chair and snatched his phone from the living room table where’d he left it when he got back home. That’s it. I ain’t finished what she told me to do. He immediately called Caspian. Voicemail again.
“Shit.”
Axel rolled his eyes, then shut them tight. He paced the floor, clutching the phone to his ear.
“…Caspian, it’s Axel. You’ve got the number. This is my second call. I don’t know what’s going on, but it would be good if you’d do me a solid and call back. I ain’t callin’ you again ’cause I just happen to miss the hell outta you. Fuck you. This isn’t about you, but it is important.”
He ended the call, then immediately dialed Legend.
He expected to leave a voicemail for this guy, too, but was surprised when the deep voice of his brother—not by blood, but by choice—greeted him on the other end.
“’Ello…”
“Legend. You motherfucker… I’ve been tryin’ to reach you.”
“Who is this?”
Axel could hear reggaetón music playing wherever Legend was. The half White, half Puerto Rican man loved that music, and yet Legend was as Southern as cornbread and fried chicken smothered in gravy.
“Don’t play with me. I told y’ur sister to tell you to holler at me if she ever ran into you. She said you’ve been duckin’ and dodgin’ her, too.”
“Who the fuck is this?” Legend repeated.
“You know who the hell it is! It’s Axel.”
“I know,” Legend laughed in a lazy, almost taunting way. “What’s up, Thor?” the bastard teased. “I ain’t hard to find. Unless I want to be.”
Legend sounded drunk out of his damn mind. It was early in the morning. Jesus.
“What do you want, Axel?”
“What do I want? We need to talk, that’s what the fuck I want.”
“Well, talk then, nigga.”
“Where the hell are you? I need to see you face to face.”
“Just tell me right now. I hate that shit… when people tell me, ‘I got something important to tell you,’ and then they say they’ll talk about it later. Say that shit now, mothafucka.”
“This isn’t something you talk about over the phone.” At that moment, he heard dogs barking. They were so loud, they had to be inside the house.
“Be quiet!” Legend yelled. “Today I’m busy. But you can come through tomorrow. I’m in Jacobs.”
Jacobs was on the southside of Louisville, one of the most crime ridden areas of the city. Axel had had his fair share of calls there. Regardless, if anyone could handle themselves in that environment, it was definitely Legend.
“Address?” Axel grabbed a pen and pad.
The man rattled off the address of a house he was renting, and then abruptly got off the phone. Axel tossed the pen back down on the living room coffee table and stood there for a moment, soaking it all in.
One down. One to go.
Chapter Twelve
“I didn’t know where else to go…”
She looked into Axel’s eyes. Barely awake, the man opened his creaky front door, allowing her access into his home. It was eleven at night, and she herself hardly recalled getting into her car and making the ride. Things were becoming a blur. A series of washed out, foggy twists and slow turns. When the door closed behind her, she heard it lock twice, and he reset the alarm. She swallowed her reservations and second thoughts about showing up unannounced, and looked down at her rain splattered boots while his scent surrounded her. Clean. Masculine. Safe.