Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 88080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88080 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 440(@200wpm)___ 352(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I dry my hands off to check my messages.
Juno: Kayden’s meeting some Rockford guys today after school. Traitors. They think they deserve to wear red. Make sure he doesn’t get jumped by those sketchy motherfuckers.
I groan because I fucking hate watching this kid. But it’s better than the alternative—chopping cars—and they’re leaving the Hoodlums out of it. That’s all that matters.
Cal texts me next, chasing my bad mood away.
Cal: Terrence doesn’t think I can bag the dean’s daughter. I told him not to insult me.
Me: How old is the dean’s daughter?
Cal: Legal. You know I won’t touch them unless they can vote.
Unlike me.
Fuck.
Me: Don’t die.
Cal: I’ll try not to. T and I made it back to campus. Hit us up though if you need us. We’ll be there in a few hours. Hoodlums always have each other’s backs.
I send him a thumbs-up emoji—which he hates with a fucking passion—that earns me about fifty middle finger emojis. I’m still laughing and about to pocket my phone when someone taps my shoulder.
I’m tense as I turn, only to deflate at seeing the owner.
Bob Gonzalez.
His real name is Roberto, but he told me when I started, he likes to go by Bob because no one fucks up how to pronounce it. I can’t fucking say Bob with a straight face, though. Bob is a guy who wears a brown suit, has a comb-over, and sells insurance.
Not a Mexican with face tattoos, a few gold teeth, and a gray and black beard that goes to his goddamn belly button.
“What’s up, Bob?” I smirk because I can’t fucking help it.
He grunts, swatting me upside the head and knocking one of the AirPods into the floor. “Don’t be a smartass, kid. Someone’s here to see you.”
My first thought is elation.
Roux.
Then irritation because I don’t want the cooks looking at her.
“A girl?”
Bob snorts. “No. A cop.”
Oh, fuck no.
“I don’t do cops,” I snarl, picking up the AirPod and pocketing it.
“Calm your tits, boy,” Bob says with a boisterous laugh. “He’s a regular. Says he knows you. Just wanted to see how you’re doing.”
My eyes drift to the loser on the grill who’s staring off into space, probably dreaming about pussy. Frederick, I think his name is. “He’s about to burn that meat.”
Sure enough, he starts to curse when the meat smokes. Bob grumbles in irritation, stalking over to Frederick to do damage control. I walk over to the door into the dining room of El Juarez and peek through the small round window.
As soon as I see him, I recognize him.
Captain Scott Fitzgerald and Officer Jessica Kline.
They were two people who testified on my behalf at my trial. If it weren’t for Fitzgerald calling me off the ledge that night, I might have turned that gun on myself. Kline was the one who pulled Roux out of there, promising me she’d be safe. I owe it to them to at least say hi.
With a sigh, I take out my other AirPod and shove it into my pocket before pushing through the door. As soon as Fitzgerald sees me, he grins, motioning at his table for me to take a seat. I pull a chair out, flip it around, and sit backward to face them.
“Hey,” I grunt.
“Good to see you, kid,” Fitzgerald says. “How are you holding up now that you’re back in the real world?”
Working for a gang and almost fucked a teenager.
“Fine.” I force a smile and nod at Kline. “Officer Kline.”
She laughs. “It’s lieutenant now.”
“Congrats on the raise. It’s great seeing you two and all, but this is my first full week on the job. Bob back there might be pissed if I’m out here shooting the shit while on the clock.”
Fitzgerald chuckles. “Roberto and I go way back. He’s a cool guy. Someone you can trust.” He cocks his head to the side. “Do you have anyone like that, son?”
I thought I could trust my parents, but they’ve both ghosted me since I’ve been released, which feels fair since I did the same thing to them.
At least I have the Hoodlums.
Even the little one.
“Yeah, I have people.”
He nods in approval. “I spoke to Samantha.”
I stiffen, my eyes dragging through the restaurant of people to see who’s around. Fitzgerald, the smart bastard, picks up on it immediately.
“I’ve already made sure we were safe to talk candidly,” he assures me, though he lowers his voice. “She said you have an appointment with Tom.”
My heart hammers in my chest. I hate that Samantha runs her mouth so much, but she’s my attorney. Everything she does is to help me.
I give him a one-shouldered shrug. I’m not admitting to anything.
Fitzgerald’s lips press into a firm line as he studies me. He has that way about him. With his salt-and-pepper hair and concerned eyes, he plays the part of worried dad well. But he’s not my dad. My dad is working himself into a grave at the tire factory, trying to forget his son killed four men and went to prison for it.