Total pages in book: 102
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 96178 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 481(@200wpm)___ 385(@250wpm)___ 321(@300wpm)
“Knock it off!” the woman yelled, and returned, Fitz hoped, to making their lunch.
“Is this normal?” Ren whispered.
Slowly, he lowered his hands. Trying to hide his own panic, he muttered, “Define normal.”
“Shotguns at every meal?”
“Maybe not every meal.”
Their bartender friend appeared from the kitchen with two plates he dropped down with a clatter in front of them. “Twenty-two bucks,” he said, and waited.
Fitz reached back for his wallet and—
His fingers scrambled over his back pocket. “Where—?” Panic clutched him. “Where’s my wallet?”
He looked to Ren, who was performing a similar scouring of her pockets and backpack. “Fitz, my money is gone!”
“Mine, too. I think someone took it.”
Ren yelped, clapping a palm over her mouth. “Are you telling me we’ve been robbed?”
“This is life out in the real world!” he cried, sending a hand into his hair. He’d have to call his bank, the credit card company, his father—God, no, this was the worst—
The bartender rapped two knuckles on the bar. “And are you telling me you can’t pay?”
Gulping, Fitz stared at him. The man could easily crush Fitz’s windpipe with the gentle pinch of a thumb and forefinger. “Sir, I believe someone took our wallets.”
The bartender laughed at this and lifted his chin, indicating the rowdy mob behind them. “Why don’t you go ask ’em to fess up?”
“I—” Fitz began, but realized the man wasn’t looking at Fitz anymore. Fitz followed the man’s attention up, up, up to where Ren had climbed onto the bar.
“What the—” Fitz scrambled to hold her legs so she wouldn’t fall and take a header onto the disgusting floor. “Sweden! What are you doing?”
Ren ignored him and clapped lightly. “Everyone? Can I get your attention, please?”
No one reacted, not even a glance.
God, this was mortifying.
“Ren,” Fitz whispered, gently cupping her ankles. He tried cajoling. “Come on, Sunshine. Get down.”
A piercing whistle cut through the room, and Ren slipped her index finger and pinkie from her mouth. “I said,” she repeated, louder now, no-nonsense, “can I get your attention?”
Voices faded out, and the only sound in the room was that of fifty menacing bodies turning to face them. Someone cleared their throat. Knuckles cracked.
Fitz laughed jovially. “Oh boy! This one, am I right? She’s a lightweight. Please, friends, go back to your meals and beers and darts and fisticuffs.”
But when he slid his hands higher to the back of her calves, urging her forward, the muscles tensed under his hands. She was strong, and she wasn’t budging.
“It seems that our wallets have disappeared,” Ren told the room.
A man with an eye patch, a hook for a hand, and twin tattoos on each of his bare biceps reading BORN TO RIDE and BORN TO DIE stepped forward. “Are you suggesting one of us took ’em?”
“No, of course not,” she said with an innocent smile. “But maybe somebody was traveling just like we are and found themselves in a tough situation. Maybe someone made a bad decision.” Ren shrugged, sincere. “I’ve been there. I’ve stolen before.”
“Stealing Lip Smackers and nail polish at the drugstore don’t count, hon,” a husky female voice yelled from the back of the room.
“Actually, I stole from honest, hardworking people like yourselves. I was thirteen and wanted new paints for Christmas.”
Groaning, Fitz mumbled, “Here we go.”
The roomful of hit men seemed undecided about whether to bury them alive or eat them for dinner, but she did have their attention.
“I begged Gloria—that’s my mother. I did my chores, I did extra chores, I did all my studies, and wrote Santa about a dozen letters.” Fitz didn’t know how, but Ren’s smile appeared, and it was like watching her hand a lollipop to everyone in the room. “But Christmas morning I woke up, and there weren’t any paints for me under the tree. Gloria said I didn’t need them.”
“Gloria sounds like a dick!” someone yelled.
“I mean, you might be right,” Ren said, “but that doesn’t excuse what I did.” She paused. “I went into town the next day and stole some paints from the five-and-dime. Gloria saw me painting that night and knew what I’d done. She made me go back and tell the owners.”
“Kill the narc!” another voice yelled.
“No, come on, we all know she was right,” Ren said, looking out over the room. “I shouldn’t have taken them. Jesse and Tammy are just trying to make a living, same as everyone else out there. I told them what I did, and Jesse let me work stocking shelves for a few hours a day for a week or two to work off the cost of the paints. And when I was done, he even gave me a new set of brushes. My point is that we all make mistakes, but if we’re lucky someone gives us the chance to make it right.”
Fitz truly, deeply wanted the floor to open up and swallow them both.