Total pages in book: 65
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63579 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 318(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 212(@300wpm)
Dead silence.
Only the sounds of distance traffic fill my now ringing ears as I wait for the explosion to come, and I know it will, because what I did was beyond crazy, and I should have known better.
“What?”
Western grinds the words out as if they’re acid on his tongue.
“I just...I wanted him to know that he couldn’t get away with what he did. I just...”
“Are you fucking stupid?”
Western roars this, so loudly I flinch and leap backwards, my eyes widening in fear and shock.
“Fuck,” Fury barks. “God dammit, Bonnie. What the fuck were you thinkin’?”
“I wasn’t,” I squeak. “I just...I was just...”
“What part of none of this is your fucking business did you not understand?” Western snarls at me, his tone icy.
“I know. I know. I screwed up. I didn’t...I don’t...”
I can’t even explain myself.
I can’t make up some lie that I accidentally ran into him and blurted out what I thought.
That isn’t even logical.
No, instead, I went to his place of work, and I told him what I knew.
I am so incredibly stupid.
“Get your shit,” Fury orders.
It pains me to see Fury angry, because Fury never seems angry.
“What?” I whisper.
“Go and get your shit, right now. You’re comin’ with us.”
“No,” I say quickly. “No, I can’t...”
“Get your shit, or I’ll fuckin’ drag you out of here without it,” Western warns.
He scares me when he’s like this.
“Are you going to hurt me?” I ask, my voice pitiful and afraid.
His eyes flash to mine, horror filling them. As if I haven’t done enough, I go and throw that into the mix. When will I ever learn to shut my damned mouth?
“Get. In. The. Fucking. Truck.”
His voice is like a whip, and I move without further argument. I gather my things quickly, and then I follow them out to the truck. Once we’re on the road, I stare out the window and a lone tear rolls down my cheek. I’m scared, not just for myself but for what this could mean for the club. I should have thought about my actions.
One thing is for certain...I can’t release my story now.
It would be catastrophic.
16
“I can’t release what I’ve found, Pete. I think it would be dangerous.”
Sitting across from Pete the next day, I am trying to explain to him that I can’t release the story on Western. I think it’ll be too dangerous for those involved and will land the club in some serious hot water. The problem is, I already sent him information on what I discovered. I’ve already partially written the story, mostly about Western and the kind of person he is, what I’ve discovered about him so far, and then what he told me about Bill Whart and the swamp that day.
I didn’t mention the missing foster children, or my suspicions surrounding that.
The story isn’t complete, far from it, but Pete had asked me to deliver something and so that’s what I had done. I didn’t know it at the time, but that information is deadly, and I cannot be shared with the public. If something like that is released, Bill is only going to seek revenge and that revenge will be directly laid upon the club and Western. I can’t be responsible for that.
“I agree,” Pete nods. “Naming Bill Whart is something we cannot do. I understand where you’re coming from. I think this story would cause an explosion that turned the town upside down and we don’t want that kind of publicity. I will admit, though, your story is fantastic. What you have written is incredible. I want to see more from you. You’ve convinced me you’re worth giving the chance to.”
Pride explodes in my chest, and I can’t stop the smile that spreads across my face.
“Really?”
Pete nods, grinning. “Really. You’re a good writer. I think it’s time you spread your wings and really dig deeper into that talent. What do you say? Will you keep delivering that kind of material?”
Nodding quickly, I can’t stop the joy spreading through my body.
Finishing with Pete, and floating on cloud nine at the good news, I make my way out of the office. I run into one of the editors, Jerimiah, as I’m waiting for the lift. He and I don’t have a great deal to do with one another, but he’s good at his job and he’s responsible for getting the stories out there. Without him, nothing would make it on time. I offer him a polite smile.
“I saw the story you wrote,” he tells me, “It was very good.”
“Thanks,” I say, a little concerned that someone else saw it. “It was good, but we’re not going to publish it.”
He nods. “Yeah, definitely not.”
With that, he walks away.
That was awkward.
Leaving the building, I see Mex waiting for me outside, his truck still idling in the parking lot. He came with me today, Western refusing to leave me unsupervised. I told him I had a job interview, not wanting to give away that I worked here. Climbing into his truck, I glance over at him. He’s got the window wound down, a cigarette in his hand. Moving his gaze to me, he nods when I close the door.