Total pages in book: 74
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72931 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Nees hands the wrench to Filter and scrambles away mumbling apologies.
“I’m going to drown him in Keystone Lake,” I warn, my voice rough and annoyed.
Filter laughs as he drops the wrench on the work table with a clang. “Your brother will be pissed if you drown his son.”
“He’ll get over it.”
“Get over what?” Dragon asks, looking all too fucking chipper today, grinning like a fool.
“Me killing Nees.”
Dragon’s green eyes light up with violence, his large green and black dragon tattoo on his neck moving like it’s alive. “Oooh, goodie. Can I help?”
Filter shoves him. “Go blow up shit elsewhere. I’m trying to dismantle the bomb at the moment.”
Me.
I’m the bomb.
Always ticking.
If it weren’t for my VP, Filter, I would’ve blown up the whole goddamn world years ago. Filter keeps me grounded and focused. Mostly. I’m always teetering on the line of losing my fucking mind and going nuclear. He keeps me from doing either.
“You always spoil my fun.” Dragon pouts like the girl he is.
Filter laughs. “Get out of here, dickhead. We’ll see you at Church.”
“Why does he smell so…” I trail off, looking for the right word.
“Gay?”
“I was going to say bitchy.”
“Because he’s Dragon,” he says with a shrug. “For some damn reason, he thinks the motorcycle club life is better for him than the dance club life. Though I beg to differ.”
Sure, Dragon is a fucking metrosexual if I ever saw one with his perfect hair and celebrity smile and stupid tight leather pants, but he’s lethal. A pussy magnet killing machine. And the fucker is brilliant with social media. He’s one of my best assets, though I’d never fucking tell him that. His head’s big enough as it is.
“Tell him his sister wants her perfume back,” I grumble, walking over to my bike to inspect the damage. I’ve had this bike for three fucking weeks. Three weeks. How Nees’s wrench managed to come in contact with it is beyond me.
“You can tell him yourself,” Filter retorts. “That fucker bites.”
Unfortunately, when that asshole gets drunk, he turns into a fucking wannabe vampire. Starts fights and finishes them with his teeth. He and my buddy Drake from Savannah could be best fucking friends. But the world has enough assholes who are one bromance away from serial killer partners status. No need to set loose more crazies into the world, and I know if those two fuckers got together, the world would be a much darker place. Definitely not encouraging that shit.
“You ready for Church tonight?” Filter asks as we walk out of the club garage on my property and into a copse of trees that open up to a fucking amazing view.
“Yeah,” I grunt. “Lots of shit to go over.”
I cross my arms over my chest, staring out at Keystone Lake. Ellie would have loved this place. She wasn’t the city girl I turned her into. I should have fucking settled with her in Beaumont rather than moving her to Houston. So many should haves…
“Everything okay, man?” Filter asks, drawing me from thoughts that will only grow darker if I let them. He pulls his Marlboro reds from his pocket and offers me one. I push it between my lips and wait for him to light it. After I take a long drag, I blow it out and finally answer him.
“Fucking peachy.”
He snorts. “I think you meant to say, ‘Hey, Filter, let’s go shoot shit up so I can relax.’”
“Can Nees run around holding the target?” I ask, smirking. I inhale more of the smoke that calms my fucking soul—another bad habit I picked up after that night.
“Why don’t you ask Copper if that’d be okay?”
The crunch of a big-ass truck on gravel sounds as my brother makes his way up the long road to the compound. I had this place built about five years ago, moving our location from a shithole in Tulsa to Sand Springs where we could fucking breathe.
Copper’s Ford Super Duty King Ranch truck is gold with chrome trim. He rides around in that thing like he’s the fucking god of the roads. Filter and I walk over to him as he climbs out. My brother has been with the FBI for over twenty years. But, in the last ten, his views on justice have changed. The night those fuckers took my family, I was no longer Jared and he was no longer Jeremy. The Koynakov brothers died that day along with the sweetest girls on earth. Vengeance became what we talked about over turkey dinners. We became Koyn and Copper.
“Where’s my boy?” Copper asks, a wide grin on his face that used to match mine. Mine now bears scars from Rancid.
“Fuckin’ Prospect dinged up my bike,” I grumble, my cigarette bouncing between my lips as I talk. “Take his useless ass back with you.”
Copper just laughs and runs his fingers through his nearly black hair that’s sporting a few grays lately. “You’re such a dick, Jared. You’re his uncle. Cut him some slack.”