Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142728 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Jesus Christ. This is getting way out of hand.
“Rock,” I say, trying to humble myself. “This is my fuckup. I didn’t think it would bring heat down on one of our partners.”
Rock’s eye twitches at “partner” but Loco nods and seems less irritated.
“I just like a heads-up,” Loco says. “Help me to help you. That’s all.”
“How much?” I ask.
“Well.” Loco scratches his chin. “It cost me about five K to make this go away.”
Rock glares.
“I’m not asking to be reimbursed.” Loco holds up his hands. “Just forewarned.”
“It won’t happen again,” I say. “He’s a piece of shit who hurt one of my dancers, though. It needed to be done and I only had a short window of time to make the visit.”
“Oh.” Loco sits back. “Well now. That changes everything. I figured it was an MC business spat. But you’s just protectin’ one of your girls?”
“Yes,” I answer. “He sprained her wrist, fucked up her shoulder, and fuck knows what else.”
“How she supposed to ride the pole like that?” Loco asks.
“Exactly,” I say.
“All right then.” The strained atmosphere seems to dial down a notch. “You know how I feel about that shit, Dexter.”
I nod. At least we see eye-to-eye with Loco about something.
He strokes his hand over his cheek. “My girl Minnie says you been taking good care of her too.”
“Yeah, that one brought us a lawsuit,” I say. Rock shouldn’t care that I’m disclosing this. Loco needs to understand we have unexpected expenses too.
“That gonna cost you a fuck lot more than my bribe to Ironworks’ finest.”
“No shit,” Rock says.
Loco sits back, placing his hands flat on the table. Like suddenly he’s rethinking this “urgent” meeting.
My phone buzzes in my pocket.
We’re still face-to-face with Loco, so I ignore it.
“Now that we’ve taken care of business, how about we all eat?” Loco says. “Burgers sound good?”
“I don’t know.” Rock sits back and runs his hand over his stomach. “I’m trying to limit my red meat intake. Let me see a menu.”
I swallow down my laughter. Rock’s watching his diet like he’s turning in his Harley for a Vespa.
“How’s the corned beef and cabbage?” Murphy asks over his shoulder.
“Oh, y’all about to clean out my kitchen.” Loco points two fingers at his eyes, then sweeps them in our direction. “I see you.”
My phone goes off again.
“Just get it, Dexter,” Loco says.
I pull out my phone and check the screen.
Missed call from Peanut.
Missed call from Peanut.
Missed call from Vapor.
Peanut: Uncle Dex, I got a call about Libby at Johnsonville Hospital. Is that your girlfriend’s sister? Call me.
“I gotta go.” I shove the phone in my pocket and slide out of the booth.
“Everything okay?” Loco asks.
“No.” I meet Rock’s surprised eyes. “It’s…something happened to Libby.”
“Go, go,” Rock says. He lifts his chin to someone behind me.
Behind me, Loco asks Rock, “Dexter got a girl now? Good for him.”
I’m out the door before I hear his answer.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FOUR
Emily
“Libby Walker, where is she?” I slap my hand against the front desk at the hospital, startling the woman behind the desk. “I got a call she was brought into the ER. I’m her legal guardian.”
“Libby?” She frowns and taps at her computer.
“Liberty, sorry,” I say. “Walker.”
“She’s been moved to critical care now. Turn—”
“Wait, the person I spoke to said she was stable.”
A doctor in green scrubs and a white coat greets me, taking me to another part of the hospital.
“What happened?”
“As far as we can tell, your sister was in a vehicle with two other girls. Another driver ran through a stop sign. Hit the driver’s side. Your sister’s very lucky.”
I blow out a breath. Lucky means she’s okay, right?
“Can I see her?”
“She’s out right now but you can sit with her.”
“Wait, what?”
The doctor lists several injuries. I can’t keep track. Why wasn’t I there? A broken arm and bang on the head seem to be the worst of it.
I’m still not prepared. My baby sister. Swallowed whole by a white hospital bed. White sheets. White blankets. White cast halfway up her left arm. White bandage around her head. Her skin so pale.
Except for the red blood all over her face.
My stomach lurches, my vision narrows, throwing me back to the night I found my parents. The night I found Libby in the closet covered in blood.
“Her face.” My voice quivers. “What happened?”
The doctor steps closer, frowning at my question. Did she already explain?
I’m caught. Unable to shake off the grip of the past.
“…windshield shattered…safety glass…scratches will heal…looks worse than it is.” The doctor’s voice drones on and on.
Scratches. Not blood spatter.
I fall into a chair by her bedside.
“I’m so sorry, pudding,” I whisper.
Guilt tumbles over me like blocks of ice.
I should’ve been there.
She shouldn’t have had to get a ride with a friend. One I know damn well isn’t a safe driver.
Instead of being there when Libby needed me, I was at some stupid motorcycle club in the middle of nowhere. Worried about my own selfish needs, again.