Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 129027 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 645(@200wpm)___ 516(@250wpm)___ 430(@300wpm)
“No, don’t!” I race forward, bracing my shoulder under the stubborn bastard’s arm, when I realize he’s determined to walk out of here.
He’s barely standing, barely breathing, but as we walk, blood trailing behind us, the best man I’ll ever know whispers, “Love you, too, Red.”
EPILOGUE I
ISAAK
Two Months Later
“So what do you think?” I ask. “Wanna come train with me?”
I take a sip of my coffee as I look across the table at Art. The years both have and haven’t been kind to my old friend. He was a shrimp when I last knew him and now he’s built as fuck. But where he used to be the jokester light of the party, now he’s got shadows in his eyes and I only saw him smile once, when we first saw each other in the parking lot and exchanged a quick hug.
But the whole time we’ve been catching up—pretty fucking depressing tales on both our parts except for my recent lucky as fuck fortune of finding Kira and having her in my life—he’s been grim.
“It’s good you found your Angelique,” he says, the ghost of a smile almost hitting his lips, but then he shakes his head. “I just don’t know if bodyguarding is for me. I don’t think I could—” he shudders, “have the weight of knowing anyone’s life was in my hands again.”
“Bro,” I shake my head and reach out a quick hand to slap him on the shoulder. “The stakes aren’t usually so high. We can get hired to be extra security for concerts, events, stuff like that.”
“There’s active shooters at that kinda shit all the time.”
I tilt my head at him. “And who better than us in a situation like that, man? Seriously? But that’s not the day to day. Just come train with me. What the fuck you doin’ down in Austin right now?”
“Working at Buck’s shop.”
“Fuck, Art.” I pull back from the table, frowning seriously. Art went into the military in the first place to avoid getting pulled into his cousin Alex’s motorcycle gang. “Are you in?”
“No. No,” he says again when he can see how freaked out I am. The Rattlesnake Kings are no one to fuck with. A few years ago when a war broke out with them and one of the south Texas gangs, bodies dropped up and down I-35 with rattlesnakes on their chests as a calling card.
“I just work in the shop. Alex knows I don’t fuck with that. After Gracie took Paloma and left me he knew I had to be on the up and up to be able to get any visitation with my daughter.”
“They moved to Ft. Worth, didn’t they?” I ask, arching an eyebrow. “And I’m offering good work, out of Alex’s world. Surely a judge would look more favorably on that.”
He lowers his eyebrows. “It’d still be a job where I’m carrying a gun.”
“Are you sure you can afford to go around and not carry a gun, Art? Fuck, hanging out with the Kings again?”
He shoves back from the chair and stands up.
Dammit. I pushed too hard too fast.
I immediately stand up, too. “I’m sorry. Fuck, man. You know I’d go to the mat for you if you’re ever in trouble. I just know how hard you worked to get out the first time. We both did. I’m trying to build something here that could be good for guys like us. I’m trying to give us second chances. I already got a couple other guys who are up here, training with me and working on their certs. But you’re my brother.” I clap him on the shoulder again, but this time don’t let go. “And I’m trying to build a real family here for once. One better than blood, cause sometimes blood families bite ass and don’t do nothing but keep us stuck.”
He frowns, deep lines in his forehead, and nods. “Yeah, I’ll think about it.”
“You do that.”
We both nod at each other in the way that means more than words sometimes with brothers, then he gets up and heads out. He stops right before the door, though, turning back to me.
“This thing you got with your woman. Don’t fuck it up. And congratulations, man.”
Then he’s gone through the door. I watch through the window of the diner as he hops on his Harley Road King and pulls out of the parking lot.
I hope I see him again.
In the meantime, I grin. I’ve got a little woman to get home to.
“Can you find me a… an um…” Kira frantically flips pages in the cooking book while the kitchen mixer loudly whirs and a YouTube video in the background blares. “An omelette pan!” she finally announces.
I laugh and look around the boxes towering all around us in the little house we’re renting. Well, I say little—it’s bigger than anything I’ve lived in since some of the foster houses when I was a kid. But those were always stuffed to the gills with people.