Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83244 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 416(@200wpm)___ 333(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Drifter’s eyes narrowed. “You think you’ll be able to track them down?”
“Can’t make any promises, but I’m not giving up until I do.”
That was all he said. No cockiness. No promises. Just flat-out confidence. It was what the club needed. It was what Stone needed. Drifter knew that as he gave him a nod. “That’s what I needed to hear.”
I watched the two of them, both knowing exactly where this was headed before anyone else said it. Drifter broke the silence when he warned them, “War’s coming.”
“No, brother.” Ace looked at him dead in the eye. “It’s already here.”
They continued talking for a few minutes longer, and then Ace told Drifter they had rooms ready for us at the clubhouse. Drifter thanked him and told him we’d be back in the morning. We headed out to the truck, and since he knew the way, Drifter drove us over to the clubhouse.
It was well after midnight before we finally pulled through the gate. It looked different from ours, smaller and more rustic, but it felt the same. A heavy mix of cigarette smoke, bourbon, leather, and aftershave lingered in the air, and it made me feel right at home.
Most of the guys had gone home for the night, and those who were still there had already called it a night. One of the prospects showed us to our rooms, and I was quick to kick off my boots and climb into bed. I pulled out my phone and was pleased to see that I had more messages from Brooke.
Brooke:
Do you remember those peanut butter and banana sandwiches?
Me:
The ones I used to make? Because yours were terrible.
Brooke:
Yes. I’m talking about yours.
Me:
Yeah, I have them all the time.
Brooke:
I've tried making them for Anslee, but they were never as good as yours.
Me:
You always used fresh bananas. They have to be at least a little brown.
Probably didn’t smash them enough either.
Brooke:
I don’t know.
They just weren’t right.
Me:
I'll make you one the next time I see ya.
Brooke:
I’m going to hold you to that.
Me:
You bring the cookies.
Brooke:
You have yourself a deal.
Me:
It's late.
You should be asleep.
Brooke:
Only if you promise to do the same.
Me:
Deal.
I was still staring at the screen when another picture appeared. Brooke was sitting in a rocking chair, and Anslee was asleep on her chest. She had one tiny hand curled around the collar of Brooke's shirt. I didn't realize how long I'd been staring until the screen dimmed.
I put the phone on the nightstand, and I barely remember closing my eyes before sleep finally caught up with me. The next morning, I woke to the sound of Drifter pounding on my door. “Yo, Smitty.”
“Yeah?”
“Get up. We’re leaving in ten.”
“Seriously?” I rubbed my hand over my face and groaned, “What time is it?”
“You don’t wanna know… Now, get up. We got shit to do.”
Five minutes later, we were back in the truck and pulling through the gate. It was earlier than I thought. Hell, delivery trucks were just starting their routes, and there was still fresh dew on the ground. Drifter didn’t seem to care. He simply pressed his foot against the accelerator and started through town.
I thought we were headed to the hospital until he turned off on a side street, and then another. The nicer neighborhoods disappeared behind us and were replaced by city blocks where time had taken its toll.
Houses leaned against themselves like they were too tired to stand. Porches sagged under the years of neglect, and windows were covered with plywood or blankets. Chain-link fences had more rust than paint, and graffiti covered brick walls hadn’t been touched in decades.
Abandoned cars rested on cinder blocks, and trash littered the streets. Hell, even the streetlights looked like they were barely hanging on, and while it looked a bit sketchy, Drifter seemed completely unfazed. In fact, he drove like he’d made this same trip a hundred times, weaving through the narrow streets without checking his GPS or slowing to get his bearings.
“Where we going?”
“You’ll see.”
He eased off the gas right in front of a rundown house with an old metal carport. There was a bright red nylon sign tied to the rails that read, Best Breakfast Burritos in Town. The words were painted by hand in faded yellow letters, and a picture of eggs and bacon was beneath them.
The driveway ran straight through the open carport and out the back, and there was a split door that entered the house. The top half was open, and a single yellow light glowed inside. That was the only indication that the place was still open because there were certainly no customers streaming inside or even a car parked out front.
Nothing.
Just that light shining from the open half-door.
Drifter pulled right up like he was parked at a drive-thru and waited. I looked over at him and asked, “You sure this is a good idea?”