Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 105667 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 528(@200wpm)___ 423(@250wpm)___ 352(@300wpm)
“If you ever break in here again, I’ll kill you.” His brother stood over him.
“Gen, can I please talk to you for just a minute?” God asked quietly while working his way to one knee.
“Fuck no. You killed my father because a gang leader told you to, and because of a technicality, you didn’t serve one day in prison.” Genesis’s eyes were filled with a hatred he’d only seen in the hardest of criminals.
“You don’t understand, Gen. If I could just talk to you.” God tried to recover. He saw Genesis pull back his fist but didn’t bother trying to dodge it. He let his brother hit him across the same stinging cheek his mom just had. His head hardly moved but he still rotated his jaw a little. “You got a pretty good punch, baby brother.”
“You asshole,” Genesis snarled. “Don’t call me that. I’m no brother of yours. Now get out of my fucking house and don’t ever come back if you value your life. Although maybe I’d be able to get off on a justifiable homicide defense too.” His brother came closer, his voice an ice-cold snarl. “Do you live in Atlanta now?”
“No, I still live in Alabama,” he lied.
“Good. I don’t think I could stomach living in the same city with you.”
Just when God couldn’t feel any worse, his brother spit in his face and turned his back on him to open the back door. God used the hem of his shirt to wipe the salvia off his face while picking up his toolbox and heading for the back door.
When he got to the threshold he paused, thinking he’d give it one more attempt, but his brother shoved him hard in the back and slammed the door with enough force to shake the house’s foundation.
God squeezed his eyes shut at the pain now radiating in his heart.
Jesus… was it worth it? Fuck yes, and if the piece of shit resurrected from hell, I’d send him back all over again.
What the Hell is Going On?
He wasn’t sure how long he drove around trying to calm his racing heart before pulling into a bar that was about an hour from his apartment.
Fuck it, I’ll sleep in my truck if I get too drunk, because I desperately need a drink.
God slid his 9mm under his seat. He put his detective’s badge back around his neck, but tucked it inside his shirt. He put his handcuffs in his back pocket and tucked his knife into his boot. He locked up and took long strides across the parking lot and into the crowded dive.
The oblong bar stretched all the way to the back door. God noted its proximity right away, also any obstacles that might keep him from getting to it. He made a quick survey of the patrons before deciding to bypass the bar and slide into a booth that provided him with a full view of the place and the front door. Four or five couples gyrated on the small dance floor to the soft rock music coming from a jukebox. There were a few college-aged guys occupying one of the three pool tables on the far back wall.
He looked to his left and saw a plump waitress coming toward him. Her breasts were ample, and her tight black jeans showcased her very wide hips. God never understand why women with considerable midsections wore halter-tops. He was a believer that it was actually sexier to wear clothing appropriate, not only for your age, but also for your body type. It was apparent this waitress immensely enjoyed the southern cuisine served at the multitude of buffets Atlanta had to offer. Her cornbread sashay brought her to him, her wide mouth presenting him with a grin that was more than a little obvious.
“Hey there, tall, dark, and handsome. You by yourse—”
“Double shot of Hennessey straight up with a Corona back,” he ordered, quickly cutting off her flirting. He took a deep breath and ran his hand through his unruly waves.
She balanced the tray on her round hip and put one hand on the table. “You sound like a man who knows what he wants, when he wants it,” she purred. “Is there anything else I can get you, gorgeous?”
“Yeah, silence,” he said on a sigh.
He figured cornbread got the message, because she sauntered off without another word. When she brought his drinks and a bowl of pretzels back, she plopped each one on the hard surface and left without asking if he wanted anything else, which suited him just fine.
God picked up the beer and took a long gulp before dropping it back to the table. He kept his head down, picking at the nicks that’d been made in the table’s wooden surface. The pure hatred he’d seen in his brother’s eyes was branded in his mind and his mother’s shrill scream radiated in his ears. “You killed my husband.” He threw back the shot and winced at the burn in his throat, but relished the feeling as it traveled into his system.