Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 29620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 29620 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 148(@200wpm)___ 118(@250wpm)___ 99(@300wpm)
“Tonight?” She’s disappointed but not suspicious.
“It won’t take long. Keep my parents occupied, will you?” Her lips are wet and plump and shiny in the fading sunlight.
“Is it a Christmas present for them?”
“It’s a Christmas present,” I agree and kiss her again—not so much to distract her but because her mouth is irresistible. She doesn’t mind. She kisses me back, hooks her leg around my hip, and tries to climb me like a tree, which makes me regret having to put her down again. “Hold all of those thoughts. I’ll be back soon and will want to try out all the things we didn’t talk about doing to each other.”
“What about the things we did talk about?” she says, wiping a finger across her thumb and then sucking on it, like she’s trying to absorb my taste.
Fuck. That’s hot. I sway toward her, only managing to catch myself at the last second. Straightening, I give her a pat on her ass and direct her inside. “Parents. Pool. Distract.” I can only manage the one word at a time since my mind is in the gutter, envisioning myself inserting my hard cock between her ripe lips.
She goes inside without any more questions, giving me a little finger wave as she disappears inside the front door. When I can’t see her anymore, I jog toward the garage and climb into an old pickup that my dad uses to haul manure for Mom’s garden. Its bed is dirty, and the wheels are almost bare, but I’m not using it for those reasons. The best feature is that there aren’t any license plates on this beater. They expired years ago, and since Dad only uses the truck occasionally, he hasn’t bothered to replace them.
I text Sterling that he’s my excuse. He sends me a thumbs-up in reply. Sheila’s dealer slash boyfriend lives in the next county over, which is twenty minutes away. I pass by Astor’s farm and wave at Cane, who is sitting in his truck staring moodily at the fence line. Glad to see I’m not the last man standing. I don’t know if Cane is ever going to win Astor’s daddy over, and Astor, well, you can’t blame her for not leaving her dad in his condition.
There’s a patch of land just on the border between Edison and Cactus Ridge. On it sits four trailers and one double-wide. Until a couple of years ago, three generations of Pembles lived here. Then old man Pemble died, and the son, who had a disability from the war, decided to move in with his daughter down in El Paso. The youngest Pemble sold the land to put himself through college.
No one knew who bought it until a group of bikers showed up. County records say the title holder is 1PC which, according to my uncle, is for One Per Center. It’s basically a gang. They’ve been quiet, although everyone knows they’re running drugs here. Basically, that means they can be bought.
I’m not taking out the whole crew. I just want to buy one man.
I attach my camera to the dashboard and turn it to face the front door of the double-wide. I throw the duffel bag over my shoulder and climb out the driver’s side.
The sounds of a football game slide through the gaps between the metal wall of the trailer and the door frame. I pound on the door to make sure I can be heard over the television. The TV cuts off, and then I hear boots stomping against linoleum. The door creaks open a half-inch, and a weathered face pokes out.
“Whaddya want?”
“I’m here to make a purchase.”
He looks me up and down before spitting at my feet. “Thought you rich kids did the prescription thing.”
“Not that kind of purchase.”
The man narrows his eyes. “Only kind of thing I’m offering.”
“You haven’t even heard my deal yet.” I drop the duffle onto the top step and nudge it forward with my toe. “Take a look.”
Curiosity takes hold, and the door opens wide enough for my bag to fit through. One tug and the duffle disappears inside. I wait, my hands in my pockets, and count backwards from ten. I’m on two when the door reopens, this time wide enough for me to see that my guy is alone.
“What’s this supposed to mean?” He shakes the piece of paper in my face.
“Just what it says. I want to buy Terrance Frame from you. I think his nickname is Two-faced Terry since he ratted out his cousin to the feds and sent his cousin’s gang to prison for ten years. According to my research, he hooked up with you all about three months ago promising a big score but hasn’t come through.” I read off the details from the email I received from my high school trainer, who has been buying steroids on the sly for years. He hands them out to the team like candy. I never took any because I had no desire to shrink my dick in exchange for bulking up. “Anyway, rather than get you all in trouble for just making a living, I figured I’d take him off your hands.”