Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 66859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66859 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 334(@200wpm)___ 267(@250wpm)___ 223(@300wpm)
He grits his teeth, and I flash him a smile before leaning back. “Now, back to the gun.”
“You can’t even load the fuckin’ thing.”
I roll my eyes. “Then show me.”
“Rather watch you get gunned down.”
“God,” I snort. “We’re not in the sixties. Nobody says gunned down.”
He snatches up the gun and angrily shows me how to load it.
“Are you always this angry?” I ask, watching the way his jaw is constantly tight, like he’s always got the weight of the world on his shoulders.
“I am when I have to deal with fuckin’ idiots.”
He’s starting to piss me off now.
“What have I ever done to you for you to judge me so heavily?” I ask, crossing my arms.
“You stole from my club.”
“It’s not your club, and I was doing you a damned favor.”
“You were doin’ yourself a favor.”
“Same diff,” I shrug. “Still, I haven’t hurt any of you, I haven’t done anything to warrant the disgusting way you speak to me.”
“I just don’t fuckin’ like you.”
“Why, though?”
He growls and slams the gun down. “Because you have a mouth that doesn’t fuckin’ close and you’re bad news. It’s written all over you. I don’t trust you, and I don’t like you.”
“Yeesh.” I shake my head. “This is going to be a long few weeks.”
“If you quickened the damn pace, we wouldn’t need it to take so fuckin’ long.”
I roll my eyes again. “It takes time to make quality, which is something you would know if you damn well tried.”
Beckett puts the gun away, and I get back to work creating the god damned money that will get them out of the shit. In a big way. Once they know how to do this, they can run it through a business of some sort, have it come out clean and live their best damn lives. I just need to take enough to give me a clean break.
God knows, I deserve it.
I’ve been on the streets since I was fourteen after being passed around from foster home to foster home. My parents are both drug addicts, and I was taken from them at a young age. My foster homes weren’t terrible, but I never could settle anywhere. I was always being moved. My last home was the only abusive one and it was then I decided I was better and stronger on my own, so I took off to the streets.
I met a lot of bad people and did a lot of bad things. It wasn’t until I met my husband that I cleaned up. He was toxic, but he saved my life. He cleared my debts, got the bad people off my back and, in exchange, I married him. He taught me a lot, and it’s because of him that I have all the contacts that I do. I didn’t learn about making money until a few years back, but the whole thing fascinated me, and I decided I was going to learn to do it perfectly, set myself up, and get away from here forever.
Maybe to a tropical island somewhere, I don’t know.
Either way, it’ll be freedom.
“You’ll be at the club tonight,” Beckett tells me. “We got a meeting, can’t have anyone here watchin’ you.”
“I’ll be fine on my own,” I mutter, leaning down and squinting at my work. It’s just not as good as I’d like.
“You won’t be stayin’ out here on your own.”
I turn my head and glance at him. He’s got his arms crossed, watching me. “Why not?”
“Don’t trust you.”
“Where the hell am I going to go? For a nice stroll in the woods? I need the money I’m making here, not to mention I have some bad people after my ass. No, thanks, I’m staying.”
“Either way, you’re comin’ to the club.”
“Look, whatever, man, can you help me or get the hell out?”
He glares at me but gets to work doing some of the jobs I know he can do well. He is good at this, not as good as me but he knows most of what he’s doing. I’m not about to tell him that, though. Hell no.
“How did you learn to do this?” he randomly asks me after about an hour of silent work.
I’m surprised by his question, mostly because he doesn’t talk to me normally, and he certainly doesn’t make conversation.
“My husband had contacts, I learned off them. I studied it, I tried my hand at it, I practiced until it was perfect.”
“Your husband make it?”
I nod. “Doesn’t everyone in the illegal business?”
He glances at me. “He a bad man?”
I nod again. “Oh yes, but he helped me out of some pretty big trouble so I can’t be too picky. We just ... didn’t get along all that well. Way too much fire between us.”
“Find that easy to believe when it comes to you.”
I pause and glare at him. “Why assume it was me?”