Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 283(@250wpm)___ 236(@300wpm)
Meaning I needed to have all my wits about me or Gomez might fuck me up and over while I was down for the count.
“It doesn’t usually fuck me up to the point where I can’t function,” I admitted. “I’ll just sound like I should be quarantined for an infectious disease.”
Luke laughed and shook his head. “Get out of here, man. I’ll give the doc a call and tell him you’re coming.”
I stood up and offered him my hand. “Thanks.”
“Corner of Ninth and Eleventh. His name is Gordo,” he said. “He’s a trip, and don’t let him swindle anything out of you. He’s rich as fuck.”
I was walking to the door when Luke stopped me for the last time.
“Royal St. James’ father, Raiden St. James, is a rather big ally to the police department.” Luke words were tight. “He’s not known as the nicest judge out there, but he’s never not on the PD’s side. He’s weird about his daughter, though. I’m not sure about the relationship they have, but I’m not willing to let you dip your dick into his daughter and lose The Judge’s good grace.”
I gritted my teeth and stared at Luke Roberts.
“If I want to dip my dick into Royal St. James, that’s our business, not yours.” I paused. “And, if I do decide to do that, which I likely won’t, your thoughts on the matter likely aren’t going to even cross my mind.”
Luke’s jaw tightened, and I could see his teeth clench.
“And, just to say, I don’t tell you who to fuck, you don’t need to tell me who I can fuck, either.” I tilted my head sideways. “I respect the hell out of you, but you’re not my father. You’re not related to me in the least. Also, I have no loyalty to you. You’re my boss, sure, but I’ve known you for less than a couple of weeks. Respectfully, mind your own fucking business when it comes to that.”
Luke crossed his arms over his chest.
“That’s how it’s going to be?” he asked.
I shrugged. “I don’t know how else to be.”
In hindsight, I shouldn’t have said a word. I should’ve just let him say his piece and done what I wanted.
But I’d never been good at being told I couldn’t do something.
When I was seven and wanted to play soccer, it was highly suggested by my doctor that I not, under any circumstances, participate in sports.
From a young age, I’d had asthma. It got so bad that I walked around with a rescue inhaler in my pocket.
Still did, as a matter of fact.
There was no telling when that inhaler would be needed, and though it’d been a couple of months since I’d had an attack—I was very good about noticing the signs of my body and whether I was about to experience one—I still made sure to always be prepared.
I’d been hospitalized over eight times for my asthma, and when my doctor had highly suggested that I not put my body through the high physical demands of soccer, I’d given him my big F-U and done it anyway.
Though, at the time, my parents hadn’t realized that I’d been playing with the neighborhood kids. And by the time they did find out, not only was I good, but I was also very aware of what did and didn’t cause my asthma to act up.
They’d decided to watch me play for a while, and when they realized that I did, in fact, have the potential to play without having an attack, they’d enrolled me in soccer. Then they’d attended every single game with the inhaler at the ready.
As I’d gotten older, my asthma hadn’t gone away as much as I’d been better at controlling it. About noticing the signs and getting myself away from the trigger.
Which had also been the reason that I’d been able to enter into the military.
Per military guidelines, as long as one doesn’t exhibit signs or symptoms from their thirteenth birthday, they could be considered ‘asthma-free’ by the military. And since I hadn’t been hospitalized for asthma—per se—since my eleventh birthday, I was able to not only enter the military, but succeed.
Though, that’s not to say there weren’t a few really scary moments while I was in basic training.
And when I’d almost had an attack, luckily, it’d also coincided with a boot straight to the chest.
Which was usually how it always worked out.
The moment that I was out of basic, though, I once again took to carrying my inhaler with me everywhere.
Sadly, having asthma also meant that I was much more prone to getting sick. And that more than likely always meant that a simple cough would always turn into bronchitis and pneumonia.
Sadly, the doc that Luke sent me to see said that since I wasn’t really exhibiting anything too substantial at that moment in time, I’d have to wait until I was.