Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Someone I’m not with romantically.
Someone to gush about the adorable way Mutt makes sure my feet are tucked in at night or how The Kid has been looking into ordering a fancier coffee machine or how they’ll sometimes share a morning kiss when one’s taking a leak and the other is on their way into the shower.
I wish I had someone to talk to about the idea of starting a family someday and how I secretly fear Brad did something to me to prevent that from being a possibility.
I wish there was someone in my life I could just…vent to about everyday frustrations without worrying about them trying to fix it or fight about it.
Don’t get me wrong.
I love my men.
I love them more than life itself.
I knew that long before I hit that asshole in the head with a shovel nearly killing him.
I would just love to have a little bit of an existence outside of them, the way they have one outside of me.
The moment Post and the coroner are officially somewhere down the road, the two men step back inside the garage, shut the overhead door, and lock it.
Per usual, Garcia begins letting music flutter through the air as a counter communication measure; however, this time, the song choice completely captures The Kid’s attention. “Is this…Nirvana?”
“Smells Like Teen Spirit.”
“On a fucking cello??!”
“Technically two cellos, but good ear.” An impressed expression appears on Garcia’s face at the same time he places his phone down on the counter beside me. “And they were a great duo.”
Familiar joy flashes through my boyfriend’s gaze encouraging Mutt to lovingly declare, “We’ll look into them over breakfast, Kid.”
His nodding in excitement is followed by our attorney casually announcing, “Which I will happily let you all get to just as soon as I verify, we’re all on the same page about our next steps regarding my vehicle’s remodeling.” Garcia waits until he’s certain he has everyone’s focus before continuing. “How’s that new t-bar?”
“Untouched,” Nolan informs on a small tip of the head toward the toolbox on the other side of Kipp.
Thankfully, this phone analogy isn’t difficult to follow.
Given the uncertainty regarding so much circling us, our attorney decided to do what it is others do when needing to talk yet worry about unwanted eavesdropping. The fact my men work in a mechanic shop makes the choice of reference natural as well as easy to disregard as being anything other than run of the mill shoptalk.
“And the spiked lug nuts?”
This time, it’s Kipp who responds. “Still in their packaging. Ready to go whenever.”
While staging the torture kill session with the bounty hunter wasn’t that difficult, deciding which route to take with his burner was a different story. Ultimately – thanks to the man in the suit – using it to lure the others out by giving them false tips regarding my location was the idea chosen. They’ll all be sent a text at the same time from the dead guy’s burner sending them to various areas where Garcia will have arranged for local authorities to arrest them for whatever initial trumped up charges, he’s convinced them to before whatever ones they’ve actually committed thus cutting off Brad’s muscle supply.
At least momentarily.
From there, the overly paid attackers will most likely begin turning on one another along with Brad – money talks until prison talks louder – which should buy us time to devise a more in-depth offensive plan rather than being stuck in defense.
And I’m tired of being in defense mode.
Waiting to be attacked.
Hurt.
Scared.
I’m all for flipping the columns.
Swapping the rows.
Turning the one hunting into the one being hunted.
“Good,” Garcia casually states, one hand sliding into his suit pants pocket. “I know they won’t enhance the performance; however, we all know show quality can be equally important in these types of competitions.”
I.E. our little sting operation may not catch the monster, but it’ll prove that we aren’t backing down.
That we’re not afraid to fight for what we have.
Each other.
And that’s honestly something I don’t believe he’s ever suspected.
I think he just assumed my men would give me up.
Kick me out.
Leave me on my own because some random woman who wandered into their lives off the road wasn’t worth the trouble.
But thank my lucky pen that he was wrong.
That I’m not just someone they’ll fight a battle for, but someone they’re willing to start a war over.
“November’s funeral is going to be a busy day for you,” he slyly announces when he wants the texts sent, “so I’ll plan to swing by sometime that late afternoon. See when you can officially get me on the books to make the swap.”
The phone will eventually need to get to him for his tech dudes to do whatever it is they do.
Just not now.
And the reasoning behind that is still a mystery lingering in my mental margins.