Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 59183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 59183 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 296(@200wpm)___ 237(@250wpm)___ 197(@300wpm)
Inhaling deeply, I allow my worries to flow out of me on an exhale.
Salt, nature’s most natural and best cleanser. It opens your pores, draws out impurities, and rejuvenates. Living at the beach, the salt in the air soothes without anyone even realizing that’s what relaxes them, and not their actual vacation. Science has shown the benefits of salt.
Before I get in the water, I turn on my sound machine, which has different soothing settings. I pick the one of the ocean and put the volume on low.
Typically, I would take a day and head to the actual beach. No need to waste water. However, since I can’t shake this feeling of being watched, I don’t feel comfortable going out.
Sinking down into the water, I close my eyes. Rather than allow my insecurities to grow, I blow them out on every exhale.
Balance. I will find it again.
Chapter Eleven
~Coal~
“It’s time we did a little more reconnaissance.”
Hearing Ice’s words, I lose my temper.
“Fuck reconnaissance! It’s time to put a motherfucker in the ground!” My mind won’t stop replaying how we found Big Jim, and I haven’t slept worth shit since.
I watch as Ice leans back in his chair at the conference table and crosses his arms over his chest. “Yeah, it’s definitely time for that, brother. But in case you forgot, we have to figure out who Cook is before we can put him six feet under.”
“I vote he doesn’t get buried,” Hammer says. “I say, if he likes the idea of food so much, we make him food … for the gators.”
Ice slaps his hand down on the table, garnering all our attention. “I get you’re mad. Hell, I’m livid. We owe our brother justice, and we’re gonna get it for him. But to do that, we need to make sure we get the right guy so he doesn’t ever kill anyone else again. So, zip your fucking lips and listen up.”
Our prez gives the two of us a hard stare before continuing. “We’re going back to Billy Bob’s Barbeque, but this time, so we don’t stand out, we’re gonna take the girls with us. Hammer, go home and get Des. I’m going home to pick Morgan up.” Then he looks at me, studying me. “And you’re going to bring Paisley. That way, we’re just three dudes out with our women on a group date. Meet me back here in an hour so we can ride in together.”
With that, Ice stands up and walks out of the room, leaving before I can protest over taking Pixie with us. Not that I mind spending time with her, but I’m not big on the idea of taking her anywhere near that sick fuck who killed Big Jim. I have to admit, though, Ice’s plan is solid. I also know that the three of us can protect the women while they are with us.
Looks like I just got another legitimate reason to stay at Pixie’s place for a while.
Hammer and I both stand up, not saying a word as we leave the office.
It doesn’t take me long to get to Pixie’s place, and before I know it, I’m knocking on her door again. What I don’t expect is for her to answer in what looks like nothing but a fluffy white robe.
“What the fuck, woman! Where are your clothes?” I put my hand on her abdomen to push her back, then close the door behind me. “You don’t ever answer your door like this again.”
Pixie holds up a hand. “Trevor, I just cleansed and re-centered myself and this space. I can’t cover up in restrictive clothing until I feel in place. You will not bring any angry or negative energy into it.”
“I’ve got not one fucking clue what you’re talking about, woman. But what I do want to know is: what the hell were you smoking? This whole place reeks of it.” It’s not weed. In high school, I smoked here and there, and this isn’t that smell. Maybe it’s those flavored cigarettes that the smoke shop sells or some of that hookah shit everyone raves about. Then again, Pixie is a little quirky, so maybe she got a bad deal on her weed.
Pixie plants her hands on her hips. “I was not smoking! At least, not the way you mean.”
I grab her hands off her hips and hold them in my own as I lean forward to tell her quietly in case her walls are thin and the neighbors are nosey, “Babe, you like to smoke Mary Jane, that’s fine with me; but next time, turn a vent on, yeah? You might want to check your stash because I think it’s stale or something. Smells wrong.”
A distant memory with my grandfather hits me. I remember what that smell is. A sage stick. I can remember being a little boy, visiting him on the reservation and watching as he lit one and surrounded me with its smoke. Something about cleaning out bad energy. I wonder what bad energy Pixie thinks she has to cleanse her place like this?