Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75406 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 251(@300wpm)
“The fence,” Wraith suggests.
“Shit, I forgot about that. You’re right.” Nitro laughs. “About three years ago—three? Think so—we were on a ride out in the sticks. Someone was running a chop shop in a barn or some shit? Doesn't matter. Anyway, we pulled over to piss in the middle of fucking nowhere. Dudes being dudes, we aim for the nearest target which happened to be a wire fence…”
“Oh no.” I put my hands to my mouth, pretty sure I know what's coming.
“Fucking yes. The damn thing was electric. We put the screaming in Screaming Eagles that night.”
Tank winces and squeezes his thighs together like he can still feel it. “Fuck, that hurt.”
I try to be sympathetic, I really do, but… the image of the three of them, God—I should feel bad.
“Glad you take so much enjoyment in our pain,” comments Wraith dryly.
“Well, it doesn’t seem to have done any lasting damage,” I manage to get out in spite of laughing my head off.
“Truth or dare, Kaylee,” says Tank, giving my thigh a firm squeeze. “Before you fucking pass out.”
I pause long enough to draw a deep breath to center myself. A snort escapes me and I almost lose it again, but then I hold up a hand. “Okay. I'm good. I'm good. Truth.”
“What's the wildest thing you've ever done?” Tank grins in anticipation.
I blink at him. “Are you kidding?”
“Nope. I want details.”
“Well, I hate to disappoint you, but all the wildest things I've done have happened since I met you. Saved by bikers from an exploding gas station, kidnapped by cops, had sex with three guys at once… I mean, nothing in my life has even come close to that. I'm a cosmetologist who lives in my parents’ house. Excitement used to be finding an onion ring in my fries.”
Tank scowls. “Shit, let me think of a different question.”
“No! You asked and I answered. Tank, truth or dare?”
He cocks his head and thinks about it. “Truth. I like this getting to know each other shit.”
“Okay, how did you end up in the Screaming Eagles? Actually. Do you guys mind if I ask you all? I know it’s not exactly how the game works.”
Tank chuckles. “Nah, it’s fine”
“I grew up in the life,” says Wraith, surprising me a little by going first. “Dad was a Night Roller and Mom was his old lady. He kept our home away from the clubhouse, but I saw a lot of shit.”
“So you started out in another club?”
He shakes his head. “Nah, I didn't join anywhere until the Eagles. Dad struggled with a lot of shit. Alcohol, drugs, a mean fucking temper. He wasn’t the worst, but he wasn’t fucking father of the year either. He's not around anymore, and that wasn’t a legacy I was interested in continuing. My mother was an amazing fucking painter. She wanted me to go to art school, but all the traditional shit isn’t for me. I got into tattooing and never looked back.”
“But you're in a club now. What changed?”
“I was a broke ass kid living in South Side, so it was hard to not notice the club. They seemed to be doing good for the neighborhood, but I wasn’t interested in signing up. Eagles kept coming to my tattoo studio to get their ink. They noticed I rode so we had common ground and got friendly. I found out Eagle-eye had noticed my work and was keeping an eye on the studio. That's how I got to know these two jokers.” He gestures. “The Screaming Eagles reminded me of the best of what I had growing up, without nearly as much of the shit I ran away from. Sure, we've got our fingers in some dirty pies, but none of the worst shit, and probably not as much as people think now that the legit businesses are up and running. I respected the bar Eagle-eye set, so when he asked if I was interested, I said hell yeah.”
“That's… that's more reasonable than I expected. To be honest, I was just assuming it was a rough childhood and the only way out was a life of crime or something.”
“Oh, that's me,” says Tank, raising a hand. “I grew up shit poor and I was always big, even when I was small.” He laughs. “School didn't sit well with me. Kids are cruel when you’re different, and when I had four to six inches on most of them, I was a pretty big fucking target. I could handle ‘em one on one, but when they worked together, I couldn’t do shit about it. My folks were working two jobs each. They couldn't pick up and move because their kid was having a hard time at school. I’m not fucking proud of it, but I got cornered one day in high-school and just fucking lost it. I put two guys in the hospital. I dropped out before they could kick my ass to the curb.”