Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Does your brother know you're investigating this?” Slipping a bookmark into her book, she closes it and puts it on the round table next to her.
I shake my head. “No. Up until now he’s refused to see any of us.”
I don’t blame him. Mom and Dad were at the end of their rope by the time he was arrested. They were worried I was going to fall down the same path. I don't know if they really believe that he did the things they put him away for, but in retrospect, I think they felt like no matter how much it hurt, they had to let him go in order to save the rest of us. I was so mad at them for giving up on him, and part of me still is. He’s my big brother. I worshiped the ground he walked on, and then he was suddenly torn out of my life.
“Up until now? Are you going to see him?”
“Yep. Tomorrow.”
Both her eyebrows go up in surprise. She's one of the more expressive people I know. “Really? How did you get him to agree to it?”
“I sent a message that I found information that could help get him out.”
“But you don't.”
“I sort of do. I've got the flash drive.”
“Which you've spent the whole day swearing at.”
My chest squeezes tight. “Doesn’t matter. It was enough to get him to agree to see me, and that's worth a little white lie. Not even a lie. An exaggeration. This is going to lead to something. I know it. I just have to keep pulling on strings and see which one lands me the clue I need. Something in here will help me get what I need out of Mullerby.”
She eyes me suspiciously. “You're not going to do something stupid, are you?”
I shrug. “Honestly? Probably.”
7
MACK
I take a good grip on my sledgehammer and swing. Drywall explodes in a shower of dust and debris. We’re taking out the wall between Mila’s old place and the unit beside it, and I have to say, there's something deeply fucking satisfying about this job.
“Feels good, don't it?” Reaper yells with a laugh. He swings his on the other end of the wall, taking out a stubborn chunk.
I prop the sledgehammer against the floor and lean my weight on it as I look over our work. “Fucking wish we had Mila’s number. If she wanted closure, this would do it.” I grin at the idea of her trying to take a swing without knocking herself over. She’s not a tiny girl, but compared to me, she’s a shrimp.
But a shrimp with a nice fucking rack.
“What do you think she's doing?” Scrapper asks with a shit-eating grin. “Sitting in class in a sexy little uniform dreaming about us?”
Reaper snorts. “They don’t wear uniforms in college, dumbass.”
“I know, but it’s my fantasy.”
I grab a hunk of wall that’s barely hanging on and rip it off. “If I’d known she was going to take off before we were even fucking conscious I would have made sure we had another round.”
“You don’t have anything to complain about,” grumbles Reaper. “Doesn’t fucking matter anyway. She’s a college girl that had an itch to scratch. We were just a drop in her bucket list before she graduates and settles down.”
Scrapper shakes his head. “She didn't give me that vibe. Those kinda girls don’t usually move into our neighborhood. I bet you guys twenty bucks we’ll see her again. Trust me.”
“I don’t know. I was with you last time, but I think she’s done with us,” I say.
“Same.” Reaper pulls off his shirt and uses it to wipe the sweat from his forehead. “Not that I’ll mind paying up again if it works out like last time. I've woken up hard as a rock every morning since the party. Jesus fucking Christ.” And with that, he grips the sledgehammer and swings it like a fucking baseball bat. More debris goes flying.
“Hey, boys,” yells a familiar woman's voice. “Looking good over there.”
“Faith,” I call out in greeting. Eagle-eye's daughter and old lady to Strike Team Motherfucking Alpha. “What're you doing here? Want a hammer?”
She laughs. “No, I’m here to work, but not like that.”
“What the fuck did you do to your hair?” Reaper blurts out.
Scrapper throws a glove at him. “Nice, real smooth.”
Faith grins. “I was complaining about the heat and taking care of my hair with a two-year-old running around, and Kaylee talked me into trying a pixie. What do you think?”
I prefer longer hair, like Mila’s, but I’m not about to tell Faith that. Not my woman, not my problem. “It’s cute. Looks practical.”
“Very diplomatic answer.” She looks around, pulling what I thought was a purse around to her front, but it looks more like an equipment bag. “You guys are making good progress.”