Total pages in book: 171
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 159500 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 798(@200wpm)___ 638(@250wpm)___ 532(@300wpm)
“I know, but I don’t want Carla. Need to call my girl,” I tell Prophet, stepping away from him at last.
Prophet waves me off with a smirk and joins the others as I walk off.
Clyde might not be “my girl”, but he sure feels like my something, and that thought chokes me, until I have to massage my neck to relieve the sudden tension in it.
As soon as I’m far away enough for the call to be private, I choose Clyde’s number, and he answers before the first ring even ends.
“That’s how you repay me?” he yells, and I can envision him pacing in his bedroom, face red.
“I had nothing to do with it,” I whisper, looking around, worried someone might be in the bushes, or beyond the nearest hill and overhear me.
“Oh yeah? I tell you to stay off one road. One damn road. And the next thing I hear is one of your guys stole our van! Did you send him just so you could tell me you didn’t know? You think I’m stupid?”
His words shouldn’t hurt, but it’s as though he’s slicing me open with his mistrust. And the worst thing is, I hold the kind of secrets which deserve it and then some.
“You think I’d lie like that? For a van?” I slam my hand against the nearest tree, and the impact travels up my arm, soothing me with pain. “If I wanted to use you, I’d do it in style. The damn transport was here when I arrived. One of ours took it because he saw an opportunity. The guy moving the goods didn’t do his job, or you didn’t send anyone to escort the van.”
“Oh? So now you’re telling me I didn’t do my job right?” Clyde’s yelling my ear off, and still, I’m happy he’s not just hanging up and telling me to forget he exists. I wish I was there to let our bodies do the talking, but that’s not going to happen.
“I’m saying that I didn’t do this. Literally told them to return the fucking van, but it’s a lost cause. They want blood as much as your uncle does,” I say and rest my forehead against the rough bark.
“Fuuuck!” he yells, and by the following sounds, I’m guessing he’s punching the wall.
My only consolation is that he seems to believe me.
“Hey, hey, hey! Careful. Breaking your fingers isn’t gonna help,” I tell him, breathing in the aroma of sap, which somehow reminds me of the soap we use at Clyde’s.
All I hear for a while are deep, shivery breaths. I wish I was there to hold him through it even though I don’t wish his club well.
“You know this will be war, right?” Clyde says while I worry about his knuckles. It’s enough that some fucker hit him in the face hard enough to leave a bruise on his jaw.
I shut my eyes, wishing that the world would stand still around me. I don’t want to make any difficult decisions, but that’s not an option when I’m just one feather in a vulture’s wing. “What will we do?”
He swallows so loudly I can hear it. “You want to… end things?”
I can’t force words out fast enough. “What? No! No… I mean…” I wrap my free arm around the tree, and while it’s colder and harder than Clyde would have been, its presence is a comfort. “I— uh… you still need that insulation installed in your attic, right?” I ask, trying to lighten the mood, even though my insides feel as if I was punched over and over.
“You can’t come here, Road. I’m not kidding. With this new situation, I’ll never know when someone needs to visit. Only my uncle has a spare key, but that doesn’t help. I’ll need to be at the club more too.”
Like four days apart from him wasn’t enough torture to drive me to stupid shit like breaking into his house. How long until I lose my patience this time, and how badly will that end?
I groan and dig my fingers into the bark until my nails feel as if I’m removing them with pliers. “Perfect birthday gift from fate. Why does something always happen during this time of year?” I complain, increasingly annoyed as I look back toward the clubhouse and see the guys unloading the van.
I wanna set it all on fire.
Why do they get to be so happy when joy is slipping out of my grasp? I’ll be thirty soon and I only now got my hands on a man whose scent makes my blood run faster. Just my luck it had to be Clyde Turner. An enemy. A snake.
The ripest fucking fruit on the table had to be the one that’s poisoned.
“It’s not fate. It’s consequences,” Clyde says.
“Because you know everything about me and my life,” I say bitterly and turn my back to lean against the tree, eventually sliding down, until my ass hits the ground. I feel empty, but in that achy way, as if some invisible hand scraped my insides.