Total pages in book: 159
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 149301 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 747(@200wpm)___ 597(@250wpm)___ 498(@300wpm)
“Huni, tell me the story about when I was born again.”
Huni grinned, then laughed.
“It was a bright, sunny morning, and Dominique was sure she had at least a couple more weeks to go. Then, her water broke as she was making fried eggs. She had a piece of fruit, too. Pink—”
“Grapefruit,” they said in unison, then laughed. Poet had heard this story a zillion times, but sometimes, in order to feel closer to a woman she barely recalled, she’d ask to hear it again.
“She called me right ’way, and I—”
Suddenly there was a loud, roaring noise outside, interrupting the sweet story, tearing it down the middle and ripping it in two. It sounded much like huge tires barreling towards the house at high speed, like some monster truck about to bulldoze her house. The Dead South’s, ‘Gunslinger’s Glory’ blared from the vehicle’s speakers, making her windows rock and roll.
“What in the hell? This better not be Melba again!”
“Throw a cat on her!”
Poet got up and raced towards the front door. When she opened it, the music stopped abruptly. A large, shiny, big black truck with a silver lattice, and big white skull with glowing red eyes on the grill sat parked in front of her house. The ominous truck door opened, and thick curls of white smoke ebbed from the gateway of vehicular hell. One black cowboy boot, followed by another, stepped onto the dirt ground.
THUD. THUD.
Whoever it was, it had to be a big guy. Heavy in weight, and in presence. A black cowboy hat sailed high in the air, but the face and body of the person was blocked by the large truck door that was swung wide open. When the person slammed it shut, her body turned hot as a freshly lit flame doused in gasoline. Her breasts ached, and she fought a shiver of excitement.
There, with a toolbox in one hand, and in her wildest dreams, her pussy in the other, stood a soaring man—tall and willowy like some grim reaper, with a black smile and blue ice for eyes…
“Howdy, ma’am.” He removed his hat, and his hair fell forward. “Somebody ’bout your description, told me they wanted a brand-new greenhouse. Kage motherfuckin’ Wilde at your service…”
CHAPTER FOUR
A Wilde Woman’s Worth
Grandpa Wilde stepped out of the large red tub, snatched his towel from the gold heated holding rack, and patted his body down. Meanwhile, Stories crooned ‘Brother Louie’ through the speakers. The heated floors gave a sense of comfort as he stepped to the white, red, and gold marble counter, and ran cool water in the red basin. After brushing his teeth and finger-combing his damp, long silver hair from his face, he checked out the faded bull skull tattoo on his neck before slipping on a plush black robe, tied it, and went to his bedroom.
Two women, one with long dark brown hair, the other with shoulder-length jet-black waves, were covered from the waist down and fast asleep beneath his burgundy satin bedsheets. The fireplace still crackled and glowed, and the pile of used condoms on the floor were a stark reminder that he’d had a bit more fun than he’d initially planned for. He was tired already when he’d arranged the tryst, but still craved carnal entertainment. It was supposed to be a voyeur situation—he’d wanted to watch them eat each other’s pussies and scissor fuck one another, but they’d invited him to join, and he simply couldn’t resist.
He stood there rubbing his hands together as the lovely memories flooded his brain. Their chests rose in unison, and fell with each breath; their bare breasts were covered in goose bumps, the nipples hard from the slight draft in the room. His mouth watered as he toyed with the idea of sucking the four big tits and getting one last blow job for the road, but there were pressing matters to delve into first.
He walked across the room to gulp down some red wine left in one of the many black goblets in the room. Grabbing his phone, he made his way to one of his private offices. Once inside, he sat at his desk and lit a cigar. He lamented over his week, and how sick and tired he was of things not going as planned. Kage was making his ire known. The maniac had killed another one of his men, this time for the pure pleasure of it. No one else was sent to Kage’s property.
In fact, he’d lain low on his mentally deranged grandson, wanting things to cool down a bit before he addressed him again. Instead of giving him a reprieve, though, Kage upped the ante. The monster was more than likely doing business for his handyman and construction business, and somehow found out that a man in the vicinity worked for him. Damon was a fairly new hire, and a bit too excitable—talking too loud, and spilling the beans on his private affairs. So, Kage had taken it upon himself to stalk the poor man and plunge a knife into his heart. Unlike in the past, Grandpa didn’t receive a snarky text message or phone call after the murder. No, Kage didn’t claim the slaughter, but he knew it was him.