Total pages in book: 162
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 162567 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 813(@200wpm)___ 650(@250wpm)___ 542(@300wpm)
They laugh, and Sulli sinks back into my chest. I clutch her tighter while she reaches over and grabs her phone. My mind travels to the beginning of the yacht trip. How my grandma couldn’t stop grinning, like she was transported to another land.
“This is like Hollywood,” she beamed, sipping her little goblet of brandy with rosy cheeks. Dancing the night away with my mom and Nicola. And after Akara and I proposed, she pinched Sulli’s cheek.
“You aren’t proposing to each other?” my mom had asked me and Akara before we even boarded the yacht.
“No,” we said together.
“I’m straight, ma,” I told her.
“We’re straight,” Akara clarified.
I prepared for her disappointment, but she just smiled and said, “You’re still family, Akara. We all love you here. You know that, huh?”
That got to both of us, and he nodded, “I do.” They hugged, and though Akara and I aren’t really marrying each other in the same sense that we’re marrying Sulli—our bond is greater than any tangible thing. Hell, no word encapsulates what he rightly means to me, except maybe the one that used to be unfamiliar and strange. Metamour.
We were all so fuckin’ happy. Still are, even among the highs and lows—we’ve become used to the undulation. The sinking and rising waves of life, and we’re just the buoys knotted together, unable to break apart.
“Have you seen the comments on our workout videos?” Sulli asks, showing me the responses. All the positive feedback. Akara wipes his hand on a washcloth and takes her phone when she passes the cell to him.
I bite onto the toothpick again. “They love something we’re doing? Get God on the line, Akara. It’s a fuckin’ miracle.”
He mimes picking up the phone, with a real fucking phone in his other hand. “Hello, God. Oh You mean You’re too busy for Banks’ thousandth phone call in three days. But he’s Your biggest fan.”
We’re all laughing, then we start talking about how fans have loved other shit we’ve posted before. This really isn’t the first time, but the response of we want more workout videos is strong.
“We could do this for real,” Akara suddenly says.
Sulli smiles. “Like as a job?”
“Yeah, why not?” he wonders, deep in thought for a second. His business brain is spinning, and hell, I’m along for any journey, but there’s one point to be made.
“Because you’re already swamped with security work and the gym,” I remind him.
He shrugs. “This will be different. Fun.”
He’s too excited to argue with, and the idea of continuing these videos with Sulli and Akara has me more than hyped.
Pack me up and ship me out. I’m going with them. Always, forever.
“Kicking It with Kitsulletti,” Akara brainstorms. “Or some other name—we post workout videos, maybe become app-based. People can work out with us.”
Sulli is grinning. “I’m totally game—” She’s cut off as Akara’s phone buzzes on the countertop. We all fall silent. We all stare at his cell for a long moment. He hesitates.
“It could be Frog,” Sulli theorizes.
Akara is quicker to move into action. He climbs buck-ass naked out of the tub. Water drips on the tile as he answers, phone to his ear. “Akara Kitsuwon.” His brows furrow, shock parting his lips. “You’re sure?” Elation, joy, surprise begin to fill his eyes as he turns to me and Sulli. “Yes, yes. I’ll be there as soon as possible. Please don’t leave.”
He hangs up.
Has to be good news.
His smile overtakes his face, and God, I feel the joy before he even says the words.
“They found the Jeep.”
* * *
We meet the private investigator in the Poconos, about a couple miles from Camp Calloway. Not the smartest place a thief could drop the Jeep. But the shitbag probably didn’t realize Daisy Calloway’s camp was this close.
Booger is covered in dirt, twigs, branches—almost unrecognizable and parked perilously close to a cliff. Overlooking green trees and a bubbling creek below.
Derrick, an older man with a goatee and deep brown leather jacket, greets Akara. The three of us agreed to hire him after the Moab trip, seeing as how our own Scooby Doo searches were coming up empty.
He hikes with us to the cliff. “I almost didn’t think it was the same Jeep. Plates have been changed. But I’m glad I stopped to check anyway.”
“We’re glad too,” Akara says.
Sulli follows me to the hood, and I pop it on instinct.
“Mother of Christ,” I mumble, narrowed gaze on the innerworkings. They stripped her of parts. Engine gone.
Sulli’s face falls. “Fuck.”
“It’s alright.” I shake off my anger. “I can put in a new engine. I’ll fix her.” I rest a hand on Sulli’s shoulder. “Let’s check inside.” I’m more worried about the interior.
When I wrench open the door—thankfully still on its hinges—I let out a tensed breath. They took the seats. The Jeep…she’s a husk of what she was. A container.