Total pages in book: 190
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 185785 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 929(@200wpm)___ 743(@250wpm)___ 619(@300wpm)
“I can’t believe with our history you would let it get to a point where I had to send someone out,” I’d countered. “No further bets with me, Raymond. You’re done. Don’t ask to bet with me again.”
Once I had to send someone out, that was it, I didn’t care who they were or what their excuse was. I had the means to keep taking his money but knew how it’d eventually end, and I wasn’t about to have that on my conscience.
I had shit to do. Money to make. Goals to achieve. Those plans did not include fucking around with pissants who couldn’t keep their gambling in check or pay their debts.
If I had to shatter kneecaps or bust some jaws, I’d do it – make no mistake, but Raymond Iadanza with his small bets and small mind was not worth that risk or effort to me. I always weighed risk and effort against profit when I made business decisions. He wasn’t worth it.
He steered clear of me after that, for the most part, though we occasionally saw one another in clubs and at parties up until three years ago.
I think I know who he places his bets with these days, a bookie called Hennessy with a big heart that lets people away with shit too often.
I decide I’ll call Henny to see what the word on the street is with this fuckhead.
***
I’m at home, feet up, dressed in sweatpants and a tee after my workout and staring out at the view of the sunset millions could buy in my city.
I bought this place almost a year ago, thinking about the future. Three bedrooms, though I hadn’t bought furniture for two of them yet. Custom kitchen with pink marble countertops. I didn’t pick those counters for me. I’m not a guy that likes pink, also not afraid of it. It looks good and what I envisioned was a girl in there making me dinner. Or whipping up salad for us while I grill steaks on my patio. I haven’t bought the grill yet. I figure I’ll meet the girl first.
I’m recently out of a thing that wasn’t going where I wanted it to go. Or, more accurate to say it wasn’t going where she wanted it to go – me, wrapped around her little finger and led around by my dick for little to no payoff for me. I bought the place before I met her, and she hinted repeatedly at moving in. Kept trying to leave shit in my bathroom, and I kept tossing it out. I didn’t bite and she didn’t like that. After I threw the third toothbrush and second box of tampons in the trash, she threw a fit and demanded a commitment.
I ended it and my love life has been quiet for a couple months. Before Kenya, there was some bullshit with the twin sister of a buddy. That one was supposed to be strictly fuck buddies and it got sticky. I warned my buddy Jag his sister was veering into bunny-boiler territory with me and my buddy handled it, apparently. She hasn’t harassed me in a while.
I won’t be having just anyone move in. I’ve always known I’d wait for that step, wouldn’t let just anyone move into my space, until it felt like the right girl.
The right girl…
I shake the thought off about a dark-haired girl with sad brown eyes and great tits, a sweet ass, and killer legs. A girl wrapped in nothing but a red towel who wears underwear with poker chips, playing cards, and little dice on them. My cock twitches in memory of her that morning as I scroll to find the phone number I’m looking for.
Violet is broken. She probably isn’t my girl. If she was, I probably would’ve won that coin toss three years back.
Naw. Bullshit. I don’t believe in grand signs showing me my fate. I believe in seizing the future I want for myself. A broken girl that’s been all used up by Raymond Iadanza? Not likely.
The problem though is I’ve thought about her all fucking day long.
“Yo. Kill? Holy shit. Wazzup? How the fuck are you?” Hennessy greets me.
“Henny. Hey man, how’s life?”
“Life is sweet, Kill. What about with you? I heard you’re into it with an online casino, too now? That’s where the money’s really at, man. Good on ya. Been months since we chewed the fat, bro. Wish you’d’a let me in on that action.”
“It’s good, Hen. That’s a Coulter only thing, man. If I were in the market for partners I would not have hesitated.”
“Yeah, I know, Kill. But shit. It’s a good racket, huh?”
“Business is good, life’s a gift. Busy, busy. Listen… I wanna do a quick check with you on a degenerate.”
“Hit me.”
It wasn’t unusual for bookies to share information about clients. Check with one another if we had a feeling someone was out of his element by switching things around when they were at their limit with one or owed big and couldn’t pay. We checked in to make sure one of us wasn’t Peter to the other one’s Paul. When things got to that level, we knew it was often time to teach the dog a lesson or even to put the dog down. It was unfortunately common for a guy to get to his limit with one and try to bet with another hoping for a payout to take care of all his debts. Rarely worked out.