Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72325 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 289(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Instead, I hoisted one man after the other into a filthy dumpster. The stench when their bodies slammed against the garbage was an assault to my nostrils, but hey, at least I’d taken out the trash, like the fucking model citizen I was.
I half thought about going back to the Rusty Bucket. The scent of greasy burgers and the sweat that men got after a long day of work would be heaven compared to the smell of the dumpster.
But first, I had to find my buddies.
Julian and Slater had promised to meet me at the Rusty Bucket, but hadn’t shown, which wasn’t like them. In another world that might make me worry, but they were tough men who could take care of themselves.
That meant that if they got delayed, it was probably because of their own doing, not someone else’s.
They were my best friends, but that didn’t mean they couldn’t be fuck-ups sometimes.
So it was time to find them and figure out what the fuck was going on. And if that meant knocking their heads together the way I had to those two punks, so be it. At least I wouldn’t toss them in the dumpster.
Julian had texted a few times, saying that they were stuck in traffic and that they’d be there soon. The last text had been over an hour ago.
The day before, Slater had sounded pretty excited on the phone. He’d hinted that something big was going on. Something life-changing, even.
I’d believe that when I saw it, and maybe not even then. Slater was too goddamn reckless sometimes. Not so long ago, he suggested sneaking into the police impound to “liberate” his old Charger. That Dodge was a fucking sweet car, but we’d still have to take care of the eight cops on shift in that impound. I wasn’t that crazy to start a shootout with all those cops, just because Slater had missed the feel of roaring down the interstate in his Charger.
I walked into Bella Marina’s, a dive bar that made the Rusty Bucket look like a five-star hotel. As I scanned the dark room for my buddies, I was almost ready for a second tonight. I hated being stood up—those two should have known better than to keep me waiting like some chump. Two waiters were wiping down ripped tablecloths that looked only marginally cleaner than the dumpster I’d just left. Marina herself walked toward me. Though bella wasn’t the right word to describe her plain, pock-marked face, she was another tough woman. As opposite of Maggie as you could get, but tough as nails.
Our eyes met. “Men’s room!” she said, giving me the information I needed. Striding past the tables, my ears picked up a weird sound. The sound of someone gagging. Unless my cock was stuffed down a pretty woman’s throat, it wasn’t a sound I enjoyed hearing.
I barged into the men’s room, already pretty sure of what I was going to find. Julian’s tall figure outside one of the stalls, and he looked apologetic as I glared.
The groans were coming from the stall, and it didn’t take a genius to know who was in there.
“Where the fuck have you two been?” I demanded, closing the gap between us.
“Sorry, Rock.” He looked away and gestured toward the closed door of the stall. “It’s Slater. He, uh…” He faltered. “He got a little fucked up while we went over his little plan.”
The sound of a flushing toilet didn’t allow me to speak. Once it had faded, I rolled my eyes at him. “He’s drunk off his ass? Again?”
“You know Slater, man,” Julian’s tone calm and steady, not frustrated as fuck like I was. But then again, nothing ever rattled Julian. “Every time he gets excited about something, he can’t get enough tequila in his system.”
“I already know that he doesn’t use his head,” I snapped, flashing him a nasty glare. “But you’re supposed to. Why the hell did you let him get like this?”
“I’m not his fucking babysitter,” Julian said, but again, without heat.
The creaking of the stall door turned our heads in its direction. Slater staggered out, eyes red, his brownish hair a huge mess and stinking like a distillery. I almost preferred the dumpster smell.
“Sorry about tonight, babe,” he spoke in a wobbly voice, his body swaying back. “I didn’t mean to stand you up.”
I took a few moments to figure out if the “babe” part was worth wiping the floor with him, but it wasn’t like he was in his right mind at the moment. Though he did sometimes enjoy trying to get a rise out of me.
“So much for being stuck in traffic,” I shook my head in disapproval, turning back to Julian. He was the only one sober enough to yell at. “You should have told me Slater was getting shitfaced. Or strapped on a pair and stopped him.”