Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76022 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 380(@200wpm)___ 304(@250wpm)___ 253(@300wpm)
“Like I can’t just quit, can I?”
Finished eating, Trix followed me to the couch, climbing half onto my lap with a deep sigh, as if she were just as confused about the situation as I was.
I mean, quitting felt like the most sane option. I couldn’t continue to work for a bunch of violent men. But what if that triggered their suspicions? What if they checked the cameras? What if they thought I was the one stealing from them?
And, of course, on a practical note, what the heck was I going to do about money?
None of the other applications I’d submitted when I moved to town had ever called. Even if they did, I’d be making roughly half of what I was making at the pool hall.
“Would it be insane to keep working there?” I asked Trix as I rubbed her impossibly soft head. “Maybe for just a couple more months? I mean… people work for shitty people every day, don’t they?”
And in a small town with limited options, what else could I do but keep on keeping on?
“I guess I could try to, you know, avoid them.”
It went without saying that I couldn’t report the break-in, either. Doing so might trigger the brothers to check the cameras. If they did that, they’d see me overhearing them.
Plus, I mean, I had plausible deniability on that front. I had no proof anyone was there. It could have been all in my head.
“And no more working late. I can do my job when there are other people around. Witnesses.”
Trix huffed.
“I know. It’s not ideal. But I’m kind of fond of this town, y’know? I will keep an eye out for other jobs. Then give my two weeks’ notice. They wouldn’t be suspicious about that.” And hopefully the camera footage would erase or write over itself within a certain amount of time.
“Ugh, that’s new,” I grumbled when the construction sounds started below our feet.
Trix stiffened, lifted her big head, and growled.
“Yeah, let’s go on up to bed.”
At her second favorite word (next to ‘outside’), Trix jumped up and ran toward the stairs.
“I’m just going to bring this up with us,” I said, grabbing my heaviest hammer, “you know, in case of late-night home-improvement tasks.”
Or Russian criminals invading.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
Coach
“His eyes don’t have the same sparkle,” Rafe declared, watching his dog as the dog watched the cat swatting playfully at the curtain.
“He just woke up from a nap,” I reminded him.
Rafe had been absolutely obsessed with Steve since I showed up with him a few days back. He got a bath. He got a home-cooked meal (using a week’s worth of meat meant for the club). He got belly rubs and endless games of tug and fetch. And every inch of the poor dog was analyzed for any changes since the last time Rafe had seen him.
“I don’t know. I think he should see a vet.”
“He saw a vet at the shelter.”
“Yeah, but that’s an overworked, underpaid vet. He should see a specialist.”
“An eye-sparkle specialist?” Colter asked.
“And with what money?” Syn piped in.
“I have money.”
Something about the way he said it suggested he had quite a bit of money too.
“Not in Shady Valley,” Syn said.
“No, but I’m not going to be here much longer either.”
Slash had worked out a deal with one of the other chapters of the club.
Rafe was off to a new town and state in another week or two. Raff and Syn were going to smuggle him out, so Syn could swing by his storage unit to grab the rest of his essentials before he officially became a club prospect.
“He seems fine to me,” I assured Rafe as Steve flopped backward onto Rafe’s lap to shamelessly ask for belly rubs.
“Maybe,” Rafe agreed.
“He’s just adjusting after the shelter,” Colter added.
“Sorry about that again, bud,” Rafe said, rubbing the dog’s ears until his foot kicked wildly. “It will never happen again.”
“You should get him chipped,” Colter said. “And have him registered to us here at the club. That way, no matter what, you know he’s taken care of. Or your new club, whatever.”
“Yeah. I’m gonna do that.”
“You looking forward to starting over?” I asked.
“I am. Fresh start. New identity. Any word on that?”
We had contacts working on a new driver’s license for him. While that was coming, Rook was creating a whole online identity dating back at least a decade—social media, job history, a bunch of fake shit to really sell the new identity.
It wouldn’t help if he was simply spotted or fingerprinted. But if he was dedicated enough, a beard and some fingertip slicing could fix that problem too.
“Alright. Pass me the hat,” Rafe said. Colter tossed it, and he pulled it down over his head, casting his face completely in shadow. “I’m just going to stand right outside the door to keep an eye on him,” he assured us.