Total pages in book: 147
Estimated words: 137176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137176 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 686(@200wpm)___ 549(@250wpm)___ 457(@300wpm)
“Seventy-seven,” I responded.
“If she could have helped you two years ago, she would have, but your father pulls the strings now. He never would’ve let those bullshit charges stick if he’d given even the tiniest bit of shit about you. Even if he had believed any of it was possible, a real father with plenty of money to throw around would have hired as many Asa Hutches as could squeeze around the defendant’s table to protect his kid. I’m sorry to say it—”
I dismissed him with a wave. I’d known from the moment the cops had put the shackles on my wrists that I’d lost the protection of the Ashby name. Hell, I’d lost it much sooner than that. I’d been left with a public defense attorney who’d sat on his ass more than he’d gotten off it from the moment he’d been assigned my case. At the same time, my father had managed to get access to the sizable trust fund my grandmother had established for me in case of her death or until I turned twenty-one. I’d long ago passed the twenty-one mark, but I’d never touched a penny of the money. When I’d finally needed it, the cash had conveniently disappeared, so I’d had no choice but to rely on the public defender.
“Tell me what you need,” I said simply.
“Cass, that’s not why I—”
“I know, buddy,” I told him as I stood and rested my hand on his shoulder. “Could be fun training some of your new recruits in exchange for paying off my debt,” I added with a forced laugh.
“I don’t need you to train my guys,” Sully said as I began to leave the office. His voice sounded grim.
I turned around. “You aren’t seriously thinking about putting me out in the field,” I said in disbelief. “Sully, you might as well set this place on fire now because the second anyone associates my name with your business, you’re done. Not to mention I don’t have a license to—”
“I need you to shadow someone,” Sully interjected.
I shook my head. “Sully, there’s got to be something else you need. If your client or the cops found out I’m working for you—”
“It’s JJ.”
CHAPTER 2
Jj
“What the fuck?!” I screamed as blackness turned to light and warmth turned to cold.
Cold as in ice cold.
Literally.
I scrambled to a sitting position, but it didn’t help. The bucket of ice water had done its job. Frigid water and ice cubes turned my already uncomfortable bed to downright unbearable, and my clothes were so soaked through that I could feel my tight black jeans starting to shrink.
Which had been my asshole of a brother’s intent.
“Get up,” Sully said simply and then he was gone.
“Fucker!” I shouted as he shut the door behind him. I immediately regretted it because the little man with the really big hammer in my head began wielding it against every part of my brain. I searched out my blanket which, thankfully, was only damp since it hadn’t been covering my body when I’d passed out on my bed.
I flopped back down only to be met with a mattress of ice cubes. “Son of a bitch,” I muttered as I forced myself to sit up and swing my legs over my bed again. I immediately felt like I was going to be sick, but thankfully I didn’t puke. My throat was already raw from the retching I’d done the night before in the alley behind the club where I’d consumed not only a shit ton of alcohol but a variety of eager cocks. I had no idea how many guys had face-fucked me or how much semen I’d obediently swallowed, but I did know from the sting in my ass that the party hadn’t started in that alley, and it hadn’t been limited to just the use of my mouth.
That had pretty much been the whole point from the moment I’d walked through Tank’s, one of the rougher gay clubs in the city. The kind where there was only the pretense of hanging out, dancing, and maybe finding a guy to go home with for the night. No, I’d gone to Tank’s because it offered the three things I’d wanted.
To consume enough alcohol to forget why I was there in the first place.
To accept the unspoken invitation of whatever guy first caught my attention and nodded in the direction of the bathroom followed by some hard fucking against a grimy bathroom stall that usually resulted in other guys taking their turn with me.
And finally, the finale—stumbling out the back door and depositing the contents of my belly next to the club’s dumpster. After that, I was usually fortunate enough to pass out. That meant not needing to feel the hard, wet, filthy asphalt against my cheek or the spunk spurting from my ass and/or dripping down my chin.