Total pages in book: 212
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 207966 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1040(@200wpm)___ 832(@250wpm)___ 693(@300wpm)
“Not just here in this clubhouse, here on this planet,” he continued, “Would not be here period if it weren’t for Deke and I would not fuckin’ pay him back for that by shittin’ on our club.” He pointed at me. “This needs to be the first and last time you ever fuckin’ call my character into question, kid. You read me?”
“Copy that,” I said, knowing Pudge used the kid as condescension, payback for the perceived dis. “’Night, Pudge.”
He grunted in response, obviously pissed.
He’d have to get over it. Or not. I really didn’t give a fuck. We don’t know one another real well yet and all our asses are on the line if things go sideways on our watch here. If I threw back half as much as he drank today before my turn to stand sentry and kept drinking after my shift started I wouldn’t be surprised if someone questioned that with not knowing if I can hold my liquor.
The sound of Bront snoring filled the hallway. Opening my door, I found her scrawling in one of her leather books, teeth embedded into her bottom lip. Her pen sped up when the door clicked shut before she stopped, snapped the book closed, and quickly slipped it into her bag on the floor.
My eyebrows jutted up at the action. She looked my way, then quickly looked away, chewing on her thumbnail.
Fuck. This room has never felt smaller. It’s already a tight fit, and I’ve been looking forward to moving to the new clubhouse being built out back. My room will double in size, and I’ll have two windows and a closet. In here, it was a tiny box with just one small window – better than nothing. I had a dresser against the wall to the left of the door, the rack on wheels on the opposite wall straight ahead holding the rest of my clothes since this room didn’t have a closet. The double bed with the headboard sat in the middle, headboard against the wall to my left with the small window overhead. Beyond the bed, dresser, and metal rack my only other furniture was an old table with a drawer beside my bed and an even older recliner in the corner beside the rack of clothes. That recliner was currently buried under a whack of laundry.
Seein’ as I’m here full time, I rated getting a window. I wouldn’t have been able to live here otherwise. I chose the window versus the closet, having the choice of two rooms. Most of the other rooms belong to members with their own pad, but the larger rooms or rooms with windows and closets are for those of us here full-time.
I dragged the curtain across the rod and singed her with a dark look. “Drapes stay open. Always. Understand?”
Her eyes widened. She nodded. “Sorry.”
I dropped my lighter on top of the dresser and fished through my top drawer for the bag of weed I wanted along with some rolling papers and my bud grinder before sitting on the corner of the bed and rolling a joint on the dresser, my back to her.
“Where are your dishes?” I asked.
“In the kitchen. I washed ‘em. Thanks for the food. Eggs were good. Actually, I-”
She stopped talking because I turned and scorched her with another dark look, before I stated, “You don’t leave this room without my permission. Not unless the place is on fire. You hear me, hostage?”
She reared back and her blue eyes narrowed. “You wanna maybe just put a bucket in the corner by that ratty old chair?” She waved in that direction. “Then I never have to leave. Or maybe pop out and buy me some Pampers so I don’t gotta bother you to empty the bucket.” She rolled her eyes and folded her arms over her chest.
“Looks like you’ve got a little sass after all.” I cracked a smile, thinking her sass was kinda cute. “But you’d be emptying your own bucket.” I licked the gummy part of the paper and rolled it up tight, then sparked up.
She’d startled at my smile like I was a shark about to bite her.
“You’re joking with me?” she asked.
“About the cuffin’? About not leaving this room without my permission? Not at all,” I replied.
Frown lines appeared over the bridge of her nose.
“Hostages don’t have free run of the joint.” I took another haul.
“Please don’t handcuff me,” she requested softly, eyes bouncing toward me briefly before darting away like I was medusa who’d turn her to stone if she kept looking. “I’ll stay here. I’ll read or listen to music on my phone while you sleep. I have earbuds and I’ll be as quiet as a–”
“Shoulda listened,” I cut her off, took two more quick hauls, then butted the joint in the ashtray on my dresser.