Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89892 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 360(@250wpm)___ 300(@300wpm)
Feeling less than comfortable in the alley with two strangers who are smiling and snickering as if they’ve just told a joke I don’t get the punchline.
I hold up my hand and take a step back. “No, thanks. My friend is waiting for me inside.”
The larger man, Big Thug, I nickname him in my mind, approaches, blocking my way to the door. “Liar, we saw you come in alone. You ain’t got no friend in there.”
Little Thug grabs my arm. “You’re going to take a ride with us. Got someone who wants to…let’s just say talk to you.”
“No thanks. I’m good on magazine subscriptions, and whatever you’re selling I can’t buy because I’m broke. And I do have a friend in there. A very large friend with muscles and uh...tattoos, yeah, and anger issues. So, if you’ll excuse me.” I try to push between the men, but now they’ve each got a hold on one of my arms and they’re lifting me in the air, walking through the alley. “Let go of me!” I scream, but it’s not like anyone can hear me over the blaring music.
“Don’t’ think that your friend is going to hear you, sweetheart,” Little Thug says.
I spot a large, military green Hummer behind them in the alley and fear stabs me in the heart. I kick and I scream and I fight but I’m outweighed by over a hundred pounds on each side.
Big Thug laughs and opens the door to the Hummer.
All I can see is darkness. Darkness inside the vehicle. Darkness in my future. Darkness in death.
I spread my legs so one foot makes contact with each side of the door, resisting being pushed inside until I feel like my thighs about to give way and snap off my hips.
“We got a fighter,” Little Thug laughs. “So, who is this imaginary friend of yours anyway? You know, just so we can be on the lookout for tall, tattooed, angry, imaginary men.”
“It’s me,” a deep rough voice echoes through the alley.
Both men turn to face the newcomer who emerges from the shadows in all of his tattooed six plus feet of muscular man glory. Black and grey feather Tattoos that start beneath his tight white V-neck t-shirt extend from his short sleeves down the length of his strong biceps making it look as if he has wings. His jeans are slightly baggier than the trendy tight pants I see a lot of men wearing these days. He’s got a thin silver chain double looped around his neck and two more similar chains wrapped around each of his wrists. His bright white sneakers squeak on the damp pavement as he approaches. A vein ticks, making the ring through his right eyebrow jump.
Holy shit. I manifested a real live person.
“Oh yeah, and who the fuck are you?” Big Thug snaps.
“They call me Nine,” he answers. His nostrils flare, his dark eyes unblinking and hyper-focused on where the men are squeezing me on each bicep.
Big Thug shrugs. “Eh, never heard of you.”
Big Thug may have never heard his name before, but I have. My trembling intensifies with my fear, staring but not really seeing the apparition of a man standing before me. A man whose name I’ve heard whispered over crowded dinner tables a thousand times, but have never seen.
Even the most self-absorbed narcissist from the other side of the Causeway knows of King, Bear, and Preppy and the reputations that come with the names. It doesn’t matter who our government officials are. Those are the men who run this town and the people in it. Those three names instill both fear and respect from every walk of life in Logan’s Beach.
Nine is Preppy’s younger brother. Over the last few years, he’s become just as infamous for both his intelligence and unforgiving brutality.
I’ve heard of this brutality firsthand from Jared who told me that Nine shot three of his friends a few years back. Apparently, they were just sitting around a bonfire on the beach when Nine walked by and didn’t like the way the three were looking at him, so he pulled a gun and started firing.
“Put her the fuck down now,” Nine demands in a tone that sounds nothing less than a warning that ends with ‘or else’.
“You’ll have to take that up with our boss,” Big Thug says. “This little bird here is flying away with us.”
“I’d rather take it up with you.” Nine charges the men, giving my captors no choice but to release me to reach for their weapons and keep from being trampled. Nine pushes on my shoulder, sending me sailing to the ground where I land with a thunk on the dusty pavement and crawl towards the wall where I crouch down as low as I can as if I can somehow make myself invisible.