Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79938 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 400(@200wpm)___ 320(@250wpm)___ 266(@300wpm)
I sighed out a breath into the humid air. We were in the ball-sweatiest part of summer, mid-July, and even the night air offered no relief.
"That was... unexpected." Laz walked up beside me, looking off into the backyard where at least a dozen men and women were situated, ours and strangers alike. "Haven't exactly known you as the pillar of morality, Pagan. In fact," he went on, smirking, "I'm pretty sure it was you who was fucking some chick on Ward's desk at Hex last month."
I snorted, reaching up to scrub the scruff on my cheek. There was no denying it; that was me. There was also no denying that I generally laughed in the face of convention. I fucked often. I feasted on a fucking smorgasbord of no-strings-attached pussy. I busted heads for a living. I ran guns for fucking fun. I drank whenever I wanted. I crashed every type of vehicle known to man. I fucking lived by my own code and that was it. I didn't give a good goddamn what anyone else thought of it.
"She shouldn't be in a place like this looking like that."
"I agree," he said, rocking back on his heels. "Just didn't expect the scene, I guess." We both turned when we heard the door open, bringing with it a chorus of music and voices, to see the girl I had flipped on charging out, head looking at her feet, hands trying to pull the hem of her dress further down. She made her way out the gates and slipped inside some late model, nice sports car. "You need a fight or a fuck," Laz concluded, knowing me perhaps better than the rest of the guys did, having known me the longest.
I didn't fight because I needed the money per se. There were plenty of other jobs to be had. I fought because it was cathartic. I fought because I flew off the handle too easily if I didn't.
"Maybe I'll take a page out of your book and take a walk," I said, jerking my chin at him, then making my way toward the gates.
"Since the fuck when are you the first to leave a party?" Repo asked, raising a brow at me.
"Me? I'm not leaving. I'll be back to shut this shit down."
I would too.
I just needed to shake the mood, get my head in the right place, then I would go back, down some more booze, bullshit with some new prospects, and take a skirt to bed.
Because that was who I was.
I considered dropping into Chaz's, but figured more alcohol on top of a sour mood would not be a good idea. It would lead to some words with some random bar asshole and a back alley fight. I was an animal in the ring and I didn't temper that shit with real-life fights. I'd probably be facing fucking assault charges by the end of the night if I went that route.
So I walked past and went down a few more storefronts, grabbing the door for She's Bean Around, and slipping inside.
It would be somewhat useless to describe the place seeing as the two hot-as-sin, crazy-as-hell chicks who owned it were constantly changing shit. You walked in one day, it was hipster-chic. You walked in the next, it was full-on chick with pink everything. This particular night, the chick shit was gone, leaving the walls a distressed kind of white and all the accents normal brown or tan.
It wasn't a huge space, with maybe only a dozen small tables placed around, but it was a local hotspot, and it was early on a Friday night, so it was pretty packed.
"Jazz, pet, when you gonna stop fighting this and take me back to your place?" I asked as I walked up to the counter. Surly mood or not, when you saw a woman as hot as Jazzy, you fucking laid it on thick.
Jazzy was either half-black or half-Latina with her darker skin, honey-brown eyes, and a body that skirted the line of curvy and heavy- all tits, ass, hips, and thighs. And she fucking worked it. Her hair, like her shop, was ever changing. She was sporting her natural black this day, but I knew it could be pink or blue the next time I saw her.
That being said, she was Jazz, which meant she was a loud-mouth, smart-ass who had to put up with guys hitting on her a hundred times a day, so she was completely unfazed by it.
"How about when you show up at my place of business without fresh bruises, cuts, or dripping blood for a change?"
I raised my arms out by my sides, turning in a slow circle, showing the proof that I hadn't been in a fight in far too fucking long.
"So, we're fucking tonight," I concluded as she handed me a large black coffee with three shots because we danced this dance just about every single day since they opened.