Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“Get off of me,” I muttered, holding my arms out at my sides. “Why are you so fuckin’ annoyin’ all the time?”
“It’s a gift,” Rumi said, moving away as his expression changed. “You all set?”
“I’m good,” I replied.
It was the first time that I’d been really involved in club business and I wasn’t about to fuck it up. After a year as a prospect, taking the shittiest jobs at the garage and being the members’ bitch twenty-four hours a day, I’d finally gotten my patch. I was a full member of the Aces and Eights Motorcycle Club. I had the least seniority and I’d been called green more times than I could count, but my spot was secure. I had to just forget all the other shit swirling in my mind and focus on the job at hand.
“You’ll be good,” Mick said with a nod.
We took off, Mick and my dad on bikes with me and Rumi following behind in his truck. As we made our way through town, my uncle Will and cousin Brody pulled out of a parking lot behind us.
“Uncle Mack’s not comin’?” I asked Rumi, stretching my legs out in front of me. “He seemed like he was doin’ alright last night.”
“He’s sittin’ this one out,” Rum replied, glancing at me. “Went up to the hospital this mornin’.”
“Probably better that way,” I muttered with a laugh. “Give his old ass a couple of days to recover.”
“Shit, he could still outride both of us,” Rumi said, glancing in the rearview mirror.
“Maybe you, not me,” I joked. Fuck, I was so jittery my hands were practically shaking. I glanced at Rumi, wondering if I should tell him but immediately decided against it.
“Yeah, right.” He snickered.
“You know it’s true.”
“What do you think the odds are of this thing goin’ off without a hitch like Dad seems to believe?”
“Fuck,” I sighed. “Fifty-fifty?”
“Yeah right.” Rumi laughed. “More like thirty-seventy. Something to remember, baby brother? Shit always goes sideways.”
After that little nugget of wisdom we lapsed into silence. Rumi had made us a road trip playlist, the psycho, and it wasn’t half bad. I tried to stay focused as we drove, but I found my mind wandering more than once. Normally, I would’ve fallen asleep in the car—I always did—but I was too keyed up. Instead, different shit ran through my head, like the fact that I needed to replace the kitchen sink in my old farmhouse, that my boots needed to be replaced before they completely fell apart, that I’d left laundry in the washing machine again and it was going to smell like ass, that I needed a haircut soon or I was going to look like Micky’s more attractive twin. I wished I was driving, Rumi was following too closely behind the bikes, and a million other bullshit thoughts. I let them come, one after another, refusing to let my mind stray to the one thing that was making me nuts.
By the time we turned onto the old gravel road in the mountains, my knees were stiff and my heart started thumping hard. It wasn’t racing, but I was hyperaware of its presence in my chest. I reached out to turn down Rumi’s music and he glanced at me, grinning.
“Rookie.”
“Shut up.”
“Look lively, boys,” Rum murmured to the bikes ahead of us.
I grimaced as they carefully rode around potholes the size of kiddie pools, slowing to a crawl.
“Eyes sharp,” Rumi said a little louder, leaning forward to look around.
We were surrounded by old growth, the trees so tall that you couldn’t even see the tops, and it made me feel a little claustrophobic. They didn’t feel like they were closing in on us, but the brush was so dense at the base that anything could’ve been hiding in the trees and we wouldn’t see it until it was too late.
“Aren’t you glad we brought my truck?” Rumi asked as we ran over a particularly nasty hole in the road. “Your baby never woulda made it.”
“Good point,” I muttered, my eyes darting from tree to tree. It was the middle of the day, but everything was so shaded it could’ve been dusk.
“There she is.” Rumi jerked his chin toward the windshield and I looked forward to see an old as fuck cabin at the end of the road. The gravel, or what was left of it, went all the way to the front steps.
“Where the fuck would they hide anything?” I asked dubiously. The cabin was tiny, it couldn’t be more than one room. If they had stored the truck full of stolen guns here, they had to have filled the cabin all the way to the roof.
“Oh ye of little faith,” Rumi said, carefully pulling to the side so he could back up and park facing the exit. “You’d be surprised how crafty thieves can be.”