Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 79263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79263 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
“Yeah, but I was out to prove it. I grew up in the foster system. It sucked, but looking back I know it could’ve sucked a lot more. I bounced from place to place. Had a couple almosts, but I stopped caring about finding a home and focused on nothing but working out and my grades. I even finished early, and you know what it got me?” He laughs, but it’s not a happy sound. “A military recruiter had scouted me maybe a year before and we kept in touch. He passed me on to a buddy of his. I thought I was getting fast tracked into some black ops shit. Instead I found myself waist deep in a swamp a year later, realizing I wasn’t working for the government, just whoever paid us. It took me three years to buy out my contract, and officially? I’m dead.”
“What?”
“It was part of the job. It’s a great way of getting rid of a pesky body, actually. We take out some poor schmuck, and presto, it’s me dead at the bottom of a cliff after a hiking accident and his family will never know what happened. I have new papers I’ve never used.” He must see the horror on my face. “Shit, I’m fine. My point was that the three of us? We’ve all made our share of bad calls, especially early on. That’s how we learn. I was so fucking proud of you yesterday when that asshole had you and you signaled me.”
“Really?” I like to think that I don’t have mommy or daddy issues, but maybe I do, because a little part of me glows at his praise.
“Fucking really. You were scared as fuck but you kept your head each step of the way. I’d rather have someone at my back who can lock it down and focus when shit goes sideways, than someone who overthinks and falls apart.”
“King Mercenary Badass McBackstory is right,” Beast grunts sleepily from the bed.
Once everyone is awake, it doesn’t take long before we have eggs and bacon to go along with the second pot of coffee. Beast's place isn't big enough for a real dining area, so we're all sitting around his table, except Piston, who's holding his plate and leaning against the kitchen counter.
"Alright," Piston starts. "We've talked."
I cock my head curiously while taking a bite of perfectly cooked egg. "You've talked?"
Zero nods. "We think you should stay here with us."
"Do you think I’m still in danger? Is it Travis? Crap, how could I forget about Travis? How am I supposed to go to work if he’s there? But if he isn’t, I don’t know what will happen to the—”
“Slow down,” Piston says. “I had a little chat with him yesterday while you were getting cozy here.”
“Is he…”
“Still breathing for now. Long term I think he’s unreliable and a risk. If you’re going to keep working there he needs to go, but I don’t think he’s an immediate threat.” There’s a ‘but’ hanging in the air. “But while you’re at work one of us is, too. Non-negotiable this time.”
“Fine.”
They blink at me like they were expecting a fight.
“What? I’m not a complete idiot. This isn’t forever, right? Just until whatever it is that you guys are dealing with is over.”
“Right,” Beast says with a nod. I can tell he doesn’t trust my easy agreement.
“Guys. I don’t even have pants at the moment. My plan for the day is to text Travis that I’m not coming to work for a couple days and he’s going to have to deal because he basically owes me for you not killing him. Then I’ll respond to Jerry’s message about me needing to watch Junkyard, and then talk to Natalie. I have to save my energy for her.”
“All your energy?” Piston asks, putting his plate down.
“Most of my energy.”
“Some,” Zero suggests.
I nod. “Definitely.”
"Good," Beast says with a wink before standing. "We have club business to deal with today, so if you can stay out of trouble for a few hours that would be great. One of us can drop you off at home. Natalie’s place isn’t inside the walls, but it’s about as safe as you can get without being here.” He pulls me in for a kiss, sliding a hand up his T-shirt that I’m wearing. “Looks good on you. I think I could get used to seeing you around here in my clothes.”
“Or mine,” Piston points out.
Zero grins. “Or none at all.”
23
SANDRA
Natalie’s in the living room when I come home, sitting on their L-shaped couch with a plate of cookies on the coffee table. It’s a little bit of comfort, if not quite a peace offering, but at least it sets us up to talk instead of yelling at each other. Last time didn't go all that great.