Total pages in book: 122
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115590 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 578(@200wpm)___ 462(@250wpm)___ 385(@300wpm)
“Seriously, man.” He popped up from the floor, the smile completely gone. “They’re on their way here. We gotta get this shit moved.”
The screech of tires sounded through the bedroom window, and Hendrix headed to the door. “Come on, man. Seriously. Bros before hoes and all that shit.”
By the time I had thrown clothes on and made it into the overgrown backyard, Hendrix was filing down the VIN.
“It has a tow bar. With balls on it.” Monroe eyed the rusted-out Trans Am before dropping onto the porch step. “What the hell are you gonna tow with that?”
“Jesus Christ…” The only thing that car was towing was a cooler full of Bud Light. “What the hell? That is not the Trans Am Tony wanted.”
Wolf stopped screwing on the new license plate to glance over his shoulder. “Some guy had OD’d in that one. So we improvised.”
I covered my face with my hands. This was the stupidest shit they had ever done. And that was saying a lot. “You improvised?” I kicked gravel at the car, then glared at my brother, because I was certain he was behind this. “You did this, didn’t you?”
“I mean…” He waved a hand at the car. “It’s a Trans Am.”
“Whose?” I asked. Hendrix wasn’t even with them.
“The guy from the Dollar Store.”
I had to close my eyes and count to twenty. Then thirty. As much as I wanted to nail him in the face, he was my brother. “You’re an idiot.”
Bellamy popped up from under the hood. “The damn thing won’t crank.” He chucked a ratchet across the yard, smacking against the concrete birdbath. “It’s junk. Don’t even know why the guy bothered to report it.”
Wouldn’t start? I headed around the front of the car. “How does a hotwired car just die?” I pushed him out of the way and leaned over the engine. One look at it and I cussed. It died because it was a literal piece of shit. One with a pair of balls hanging from a tow bar. That the cops were after. “It’s the alternator.”
A stolen car. With balls. And a broken alternator. This had to go. Now.
“Wolf!” I shouted. “Go run down to the Dollar Store and get some pantyhose.”
“What? No.” He glanced around the back of the car, jerking his head toward Monroe. “Make the girl do it. I’m not letting Paul start rumors about me crossdressing and shit.”
Monroe glared at him like she would kill him. “I’m less likely to wear pantyhose than you are.”
Wolf frowned before chucking his keys at her. “You’re a girl. I have balls.”
“Debatable. You are a football player."
“Roe,” I said. “Please?”
With a roll of her eyes, she snatched the keys from the ground and walked over to where we stood in front of the car. “Who’s paying?”
Wolf slapped twenty bucks into her hand, then pointed at her. “I want change. And those Nacho Cheese Doritos.”
“No chance.” She strolled around the side of the house. Seconds later, an engine roared.
Wolf glanced at me with brows pulled together. “She’s gonna bring back my truck, right?”
I went to work, wiping down every inch of the inside to make sure there weren’t any prints. I barely ran the cloth over the glove box, and it fell open. A matte Glock sat tucked away amidst crumpled napkins. It was usually old mail, a box of condoms, maybe a syringe. But this... I took the cold metal in my hand, knowing I could get at least two-hundred bucks for it down at Tony’s Pawn Shop. I tucked the gun under the waist of my jeans and finished wiping down the surfaces.
“Doritos. Pantyhose.” Monroe tossed a bag at Wolf, and seconds later, he had the makeshift belt in place.
The engine roared to life, and Bellamy and Wolf peeled out of the backyard, leaving track marks through the tall grass.
I pulled the gun from my jeans, holding it up. “Found this in the glove compartment.”
“Oh, shit.” Hendrix’s eyes lit up.
“You should probably toss that.” Leave it to Monroe to shit on my parade. “Could belong to a serial killer for all you know.”
I shoved it back into the waistband of my jeans. “I can get a couple hundred bucks for this thing.”
“Oh, well. That’s worth jail.” She delivered a condescending shake of her head, then started back to the house.
“Hey.” Hendrix shuffled up beside me, nodding toward Monroe as she made it to the steps. “We don’t have any slots left at Tony’s this month. You think...”
For once, my brother made sense. We each were allowed to trade stuff at Tony’s Pawn once a month. And I didn’t want to hang onto this thing for three more weeks.
“Roe?” I shouted, and she stopped, turning around with her hands on her hips. “Wanna do me a favor?”
“Depends. Does it involve the serial killer gun?”