Total pages in book: 82
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76082 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
His laugh is raw. "I bet you fucking can, Miss Muffin. You know what? Yeah. Fine. Little sis gets a free pass, as long as you cooperate and do everything we say, and I mean fucking everything. As long as one of you is making back the money she owes, I don't really fucking care who it is. Gimme your phone."
"What?"
"Your phone, fucking give it to me." He gestures at the guy with the gun. "Let her."
I slowly reach into the pocket of my jeans, not wanting to make a wrong move. The phone's my only connection to the outside world. It was probably dumb to hope that they’d let me keep it.
"Toss it here."
Crusher looks over it briefly and shoves it in his pocket. My heart drops into my gut as I watch it disappear.
"Don't worry," he says with a cruel smirk. "If she calls, I'll make sure she knows you're hard at fucking work. Or working hard at fucking."
They walk me out of our building with nothing but the clothes on my back, only letting me leave my sister a note so she doesn’t report me missing right away. Eventually she’ll know something’s wrong, though. I can only hope Sandra manages to make the police care, or find some other way to help. Will she even know what this is about?
"What are you going to do with me?" Nightmare scenarios play through my head, but I cling to the thought that so long as the debt is in place, I’m too valuable to kill.
It's Crusher's turn to squeeze one of my breasts, so hard it hurts. He shoves me roughly into a black van parked just outside, and whispers harshly in my ear, "Anything we fucking want."
3
QUICKSHOT
I put a lot of work into making my bike purr like a kitten, and I miss that smooth rumble every time I cut the engine. There’s nothing like it, except maybe for the soft, amazing feel of a willing woman.
Badass and Animal pull into the gas station behind me. Badass's monster growls like a bear until he shuts it off, while Animal's exhaust cracks loudly. I know every bike in the club by its sound, as unique as a person’s voice. Fuck, I've had my tools on every single one of them.
The gas pump chugs rhythmically as I fill the tank. There's something soothing about it. Feeding the beast.
"Fuck, it's going to be a buggy summer," growls Badass. He grabs the squeegee from between the pumps to give his headlight and windshield a once over.
"More protein," says Animal with a laugh.
Badass snorts and turns his head to spit.
We all freeze when there’s a crash from inside the station "Well, the fucking Screaming Eagles aren't here, are they?" someone yells. "You don't want to fucking cross us."
One look and we’re already moving. Whoever's fucking around on our turf is going to learn exactly what that fucking means. Leaving the bikes behind, we move to the front door like a unit, Badass takes the right, with me on the left. After our years together, we’ve learned that Animal’s going to charge in no matter what we do anyway.
"They’re going to kick your asses!" The familiar voice is defiant, but full of panic. Whoever these fuckers are, they're gonna find that they're on the wrong side of the tracks today.
"What’d you say, pissboy?" Something else crashes. "It's time for a fucking lesson."
Animal kicks the door open. It slams into a stack of wiper fluid bottles that go flying all over the floor. Subtlety was never his strong suit. "We’re here now, motherfuckers!”
I nod at Badass, and he follows his little brother. They're both built to fuck someone up, but Badass is older, broader, and less impulsive. Me, I work better at range anyway, so I hang back, my hand on my belt right next to my shooter.
The first fucker I see is a stocky guy in leathers and a club cut. Brass knuckles raised, he charges Badass. Well, he tries to. Badass catches him by the collar and swings him around towards the front door. I step out of the way just in time to wince as the guy stumbles over the bottles and his face slams into the steel frame. Hope for his sake he remembers to collect his front teeth before we kick his ass all the way outta here.
The back of his cut reads "Unwanted", and I roll my eyes. They call themselves an MC, but it’s more like a handful of shitheads who fence car parts and like to play tough. They usually steer clear of our turf and they’ve never given us trouble before. What the fuck are they up to?
"Who’s next?" roars Animal, looking disappointed that Badass got the first contender. "I'm right fucking here."
The guy at the door is rolling on the floor and clutching his face, whimpering like a beaten dog. His fingers are bloody. Don't think he's getting up any time soon. The other two back away, leaving the terrified kid working the register to cower behind the counter.