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)
Eagle-eye raises the paddle that was on his seat. "One dollar."
The auctioneer evaluates Eagle-eye very carefully. Probably deciding if doing his job is gonna get him killed. Then he screws up his courage. "Sir, that’s well below the reserve price."
"Anyone's free to outbid me."
A guy to the left starts to raise his own paddle, but one glare from Eagle-eye and it slowly goes back down. Another looks like she's thinking about it, but shakes her head.
When it's obvious no one dares to outbid Eagle-eye, the auctioneer grumpily bangs his gavel on his podium. "No sale. Please bring out the next item."
Staff carry the painting out and replace it with a large, ornate vase on a plinth. "Untitled by Arthur Catsswain. Gilded ceramic and hand painted. I'd like to open this at five hundred doll—"
Eagle-eye bids again before the auctioneer is even done. "One dollar."
"Sir! Again, this isn’t how the auction works."
Eagle-eye just nods, then looks around meaningfully. This time no one even tries.
The auctioneer’s frustration is getting obvious. "Sir, this auction is for charity. Please, if you could stop disrupting the proceedings, it would be better for everyone."
"One dollar."
Kozlov is sitting up front and to the side, glaring out at us. He looks fucking furious. I love it. I'm sure Eagle-eye’s noticed too.
"No sale." The vase is carried out, and then a fancy bicycle from a sports store is rolled in. Looks nice, if you don't want an engine on it. Some people seem to like that too.
"One dollar." Eagle-eye doesn't bother waiting for the auctioneer this time.
Kozlov storms out of his seat, thundering across the stage until he's looking right down at us. "What the fuck are you doing? This is a farce, and this sort of behavior is exactly why you shouldn’t be allowed to have the kind of reach you do."
"You want this to stop? It's up to you." Eagle-eye stands. He shrugs like this is just an unfortunate misunderstanding. "I tried to handle our dispute like an adult, but you refused to come to the table. You wanna talk business, you come to me and we'll talk fucking business. But if you don't want us to squash you like the roach that you are, you're gonna pull your slimy little tendrils out of our neighborhood or this is just the start. I suggest you pick up the phone tomorrow when I call."
Even as Eagle-eye turns and signals for us to follow, the word is spreading fast through the rest of the audience. By the time we've cleared the seating, Kozlov looks like he’s trying to get away from the crowd, but everyone wants to talk to him about what just happened. Is he even gonna make money off this shit show? I hope the fuck not.
On the way out, we meet back up with Sandra and Piston. Travis is there.
Piston has him by the front of his jacket, backing him away from her. “I don’t want you to even breathe the same fucking air as her, you got it?”
“Sandra, being seen with them is a bad idea. It’s one thing at work, but people are watching. They’re going to assume we’re on the side of the bikers.”
She throws up her hands. “I am on their side.”
"Do you seriously think we're leaving her with you?” I ask. “We’ve already been far too fucking nice to you for her sake, but it ends today.”
"If you leave now, you're fired," Travis is finally brave enough to say. "I can’t afford the risk if Kozlov thinks I’m working with the Eagles.”
Sandra looks at him for a long moment, then turns to us. “Fine.”
"You're seriously going to throw away everything we do for those guys?" He sounds amazed that anyone would ever make that kind of a decision.
“I can’t believe you’re actually asking me that after what you did,” she spits. “You want to fire me? Fine. Go right ahead.”
She comes with us, and when I glance back, Kozlov is standing at the side of the stage, glaring daggers as the auctioneer tries to talk to him. Guests are already starting to file out.
The last thing I do on the way out is give him the finger.
28
SANDRA
I chase my chocolate chip cookie down with some coffee. Normally I love people watching through the big front window at Natalie’s bakery, but today I'm just mad.
"He actually fired me."
Jerry, who's dunking his cookie—hazelnut and white chocolate—in his own coffee, gives it a little extra time to soak before nodding. "I don’t even know why you went to help him out at all. It’s not like you could keep working there knowing what he was doing."
"Because I believe in the rescue, and I’m not convinced he can handle the dogs on his own. Poor Carl is stuck in the middle of all of this and has no idea what’s happening. Pretty soon classes will be starting up again and he’ll be back to a few hours a week. Someone's got to do it, don’t they?"