Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 82900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 276(@300wpm)
Then he speaks.
“String, go get Marcum, tell him we have a present for him,” the guy says.
That spark of hope I felt dies right there and panic quickly takes its place.
Crap! It looks like karma found me early.
2
Marcum
I walk in the house, surprised. I expected the place to look and smell like a dump. That’d be the way I pictured Weasel living. It doesn’t. Instead it smells nice… almost reminding me of the ocean. It’s clean. Fuck, you could probably eat off the floors. Few things these days have the power to surprise me, but for some reason this does.
“The fucker’s bike is here. Spread out and find him!” I growl the order, ready to get him and get back home. I’m getting too old for this damn shit. I’m starting to feel my fucking age too. I have since Cherry left me. I really thought she was it. I cared about her. We were good together and she had been in the club long enough, she knew my lifestyle and I didn’t have to hear bitching about it, or about the number of kids I had.
Women get so twisted over the kids. I have eight kids. Why that’s such a fucking big deal I don’t know. A woman shouldn’t worry about where I stuck my dick before her, just as long as she’s the only one getting it when I’m with her. But they get so fucking pissy. I love my kids. And despite the rough start Max, my oldest son, and I had—I’m a damn good father. I take pride in it. I’m at least much better than my old man ever was.
“Hey, Marcum dude, Moth is outside. He’s got a package you might want to check out.”
“A package?”
“Unless I’m wrong, it’s Weasel’s old lady.”
“That bitch flew the coop years ago. Right?” Splinter asks.
“Yeah. I heard she packed up and left her daughter behind and everything,” Dirty replies.
“Tell Moth to bring her to me,” I growl, walking into the tiny kitchen. I grab the handle of a mop bucket that was stacked neatly beside the cabinets. I fill it up quickly with cold water out of the old sink. Then cart it to the small futon I saw through the crack in a door off the living room. I pour the water over Weasel and watch as he sits up, yelling and trying to force the water from his face, nose and eyes.
“What the fuck?”
“That’s exactly what I asked when the money you stole from me wasn’t back in my account this morning. You and I had an understanding, Weasel. Did you think I’d forget?”
“I… Listen, Marcum… Man, I was getting the money back to you, I swear.”
“Really? Because, motherfucker, it looked like your sorry ass was passed out,” I growl.
“I was just resting, man. I was out all last night calling in markers to get your money back!”
“Then where is it?” I ask, having no doubt that the dumbass doesn’t have my money. I’ve given him two chances, two chances too many. I only did that because Splinter said he had a daughter at home. Children need their father, but fuck this. The girl will be better off without Weasel in her life. I have eight kids. What the hell is one more? She’ll probably thank me when it’s all said and done.
“I don’t have it yet,” he mutters and I can’t resist punching him hard in the nose. There’s a certain amount of pleasure that comes when he stumbles back against the futon, falling down. Even more satisfaction when blood begins spewing from his face. He should embrace the pain, because in a little bit he’ll feel nothing… ever again.
“I gave you two chances, Weasel. You’ve been skimming from our club for six months. Did you really think I wouldn’t discover that shit? You’re a dumbass,” I tell him, leaning against the wall.
“I’m serious, man! I’ll have it all with interest. It may just take a few more days. I’m working on something—something big.”
I look over at Splinter and he tosses me a bat. This is why the dude is my enforcer. He carries the fun and he knows me. Then I take a swing and slam the bat into Weasel’s stomach. The fucker curls immediately, crying out. I need to make him stand next time—just so I can watch him fall down. In fact…
“Drag him up,” I order and Splinter pulls the fucker up by his hair. I’m about to take another swing when Moth walks in. He’s packing a woman on his shoulder. Her upper body is draped down his back so I can’t see her. But her lower body is pressed to his front so that her ass is right there, staring at me. It’s not a small ass either. It’s lush and encased in worn, tight jeans. The denim is so faded they’re pale blue to white in color. It’s the kind of ass a man can grab and hold onto. A thick, lush ass that you could spank and enjoy the change in color, all while sinking inside of it until your balls bottom out against her.