Total pages in book: 139
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 133511 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 668(@200wpm)___ 534(@250wpm)___ 445(@300wpm)
That’s when it started again.
Fucking hell, it was my phone. I reached for it, a random picture of Puck’s middle finger flashing across the screen . . . And yeah, I recognized the finger because I’d seen it pointed at me at least ten times a day for more than a year. Sort of his morning salute back in prison . . . I frowned, answering.
“Like your new ringtone?” my best friend asked.
“Eat shit and die, fuckwad,” I managed to growl, but the insult wasn’t my best work—brain was still foggy.
“Someone didn’t get laid last night,” he replied, and I could practically smell him gloating. Dick. “Saw you took off with Mel and didn’t come back. Disappointed in you, bro.”
I hung the phone up, dropping it next to me on the bed. Damn, I felt like hell. Staying up all night painting can be worse than drinking, at least in terms of hangover. I’d finally passed out around six that morning—according to the clock it was only nine now. Used to be I’d pop something to wake me up, but I’d stayed clean through prison and I planned to keep it that way, so no joy for me.
Justin started howling again. I grabbed the phone, resigned.
“How the fuck did you break into my phone?” I demanded.
“Guessed the password, dumbass,” Puck said. “Know you too well—you can’t hide shit from me. Got a reason for calling, though, so don’t fucking hang up on me like a butt-hurt teen girl this time, ’kay?”
“You got thirty seconds.”
“We’re having the meet in an hour—all three clubs,” he told me, his voice growing serious.
“Thought that was this afternoon.”
“They changed it. Something came up. Guess Boonie needs to head out early, so we’re talking at ten.”
“Fucking great,” I said, rubbing my eyes. Shit, I was tired. “I’ll see you then.”
Hanging up, I dropped the phone back on the bed, staring at the ceiling. The water stains overlapped each other in circular patterns and I had a feeling things might get damp in here once the weather turned. Not that I gave a shit—the garage below made a perfect studio, and that’s all I cared about.
The Biebs burst out singing again, polluting my airspace. I should really kill Puck, I decided. Community service.
“What now?” I asked, answering.
“Just thought you’d like to hear the song again.”
“I hate you.”
“I know.”
• • •
Once I was awake, the ride out to the Armory wasn’t so bad—fresh air felt good. This was the first big club gathering since I’d gotten out. They’d thrown me a party when I got home, of course, but we’d kept it small. Seemed safer that way, given the drama with Puck down south.
Today we had representatives from the Devil’s Jacks, the Reapers, and the Silver Bastards. Between our clubs we could claim most of Idaho, Montana, Oregon, and Washington. I wasn’t aware of any urgent business, but I’d been out of the loop for a while now.
The Armory was crawling with people, although how the hell they were all up so early after the party last night, I had no fuckin’ idea. I backed my bike into line and walked toward the main door. Standing outside was a group of Silver Bastards, including Puck. He looked ridiculously healthy and well rested. So far as I knew he hadn’t partied at all last night—guy was still fucked in the head over what’d gone down with that girl in Cali.
Couldn’t blame him for that . . . ugly shit.
These last couple weeks since we’d gotten home, I’d missed him, especially at night. Kinda messed up, but it’d been just me and him for the past year. We’d kept each other safe, standing guard, watching each other’s backs. Surviving. That kind of brotherhood doesn’t just end once your time is served.
“How goes it?” I asked, walking up to him.
“Nonstop thrills and excitement,” he replied, his voice dry. “Got a new driver’s license yesterday. Had to wait forever and the bitch next to me wouldn’t shut up. Still the most exciting thing that’s happened to me since we got home, so maybe we need to explore our options.”
“Callup’s a great little town to settle down in,” I told him, smirking. “You’ll get used to hitting the sack at seven every night, I swear. Of course, you could just go back to Montana. Love havin’ you around and all that shit, but if you’re not happy there, why stay?”
He shrugged. “Feels like I have unfinished business.”
“Yeah, but that business is jailbait, so you might as well get over it. Unless it’s true love, of course,” I said, taunting him. “True love is worth any sacrifice, right? Up to and including your balls?”
“Fuck off,” he said, punching my shoulder. I punched him back, but it didn’t go any further. Much as I loved sparring with him, now wasn’t the time.