Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 135696 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 678(@200wpm)___ 543(@250wpm)___ 452(@300wpm)
Bryce Grimes was the other kid, and the ringleader who, Harry found out after they dragged the kids to the station, did it on his own until he corralled Pugh into getting in on the act Saturday night.
And yeah.
His dad was an asshole. He made serious cake. Had some big job for a medical equipment company in Seattle, something everyone knew since he wouldn’t shut up about the device he helped design that did something about heart attacks or angina or some shit. But he worked from home in Misted Pines because he saw himself as a mountain man. And as much as he could, he swung his dick and flashed his cash around MP.
He hunted, just sayin’, and it wasn’t a family tradition and not even close to a way of life.
“Maybe banged up a bit, but not a mark on either of them, Harry,” Riggs reminded them.
“I know. And I impressed upon him visually, showing him the video you sent me, that you got Bryce dead to rights. He was on your patch uninvited, and you’d walk even if you shot him, which I also impressed on him he should be grateful didn’t happen, because in these parts, that’s a possibility. So it’s highly likely he’ll not only lose, but a judge will be so pissed he wasted his time, the judge will make him pay court fees and your attorney’s fees. Since he’s got money to burn, he doesn’t care. He says you laid hands on his son, and he’s just a kid, and that’s not on.”
“His kid is six foot, seventeen years old and was out here not knowing I was here, thinking he was fucking with a woman alone at three nineteen in the morning. He’s a kid, but not a kid, and old enough to know better,” Riggs returned. “Though, with a dad like his who isn’t teaching him that lesson, I can figure out why he doesn’t.”
“I shared that too. He says it’s the principle of it. And I think we can both agree that his principles and ours don’t align.”
Before Riggs could reply, Nadia piped up.
“I have money to burn too, and access to a team of lawyers, Harry. So you might want to share my maiden name with him, and tell him, if he doesn’t back down, I’ll suddenly have a case of post-traumatic stress, and be suffering flashbacks and mental trauma. Thus, if he doesn’t want to be mired in litigation for the next ten years, whereupon, during that time, I might lay claim to a good deal more than the fine Fret County levies on trespassers, he might give significant consideration to fucking right off.”
Harry’s brows went up at Nadia, in her girlie fifties apron, delivering her words, before he busted out laughing.
But Riggs had turned his head to stare at her, because it was in that moment, unusually slow on the uptake, he realized the reason he wanted to work at building a future with her was because he was falling for her.
Jesus.
He thought if that shit ever happened, it would scare the fuck out of him.
But it didn’t.
It felt great.
She caught his eyes. “Too much?”
“No, honey, you’re never too much,” he said quietly.
Her brows drew down at his tone, but to get them out of this moment, which unfortunately wasn’t theirs alone, and still make it a moment, he bent to her and kissed her softly.
He returned his attention to Harry. “What she said.”
Harry was looking at Riggs with such a satisfied expression on his face, Riggs’s first instinct was to lean into one of the few things his father taught him, and like all the rest, it was no good. This was to say something in asshole to wipe that look off his friend’s face and share he had a dick, don’t mistake him for having feelings and being weak enough to show them.
Instead, he just held Harry’s gaze steady, because he wasn’t an asshole, he had feelings for Nadia and he was proud she returned them, and bonus, if Harry remembered how good Riggs had it, maybe Harry might find his way back to that too.
“Done with those two assclowns?” Riggs asked.
Harry shook it off and nodded.
Then he said, “Other piece of news. Bubbles came into the station yesterday. He suddenly remembered he didn’t buy that wine in Sonoma, but instead he was given it by someone who told him to sell it as house red in order to get rid of it. He did the research on it, found how much it was worth, and didn’t do as he was told, since he was hoping to sell it and make a lot more than seven bucks a glass on it. Somehow, word got back to who gave it to him, and they weren’t thrilled he didn’t do as he promised.”