Total pages in book: 31
Estimated words: 28170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 28170 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 141(@200wpm)___ 113(@250wpm)___ 94(@300wpm)
Landry threw Keon into me. I didn’t waste time; I smashed my fist into the fucker’s face and pummeled him into the ground. It was only Landry dragging me away that stopped me from ending the fucker right then.
“Hold him down!” Landry ordered. I put my rage aside and did as he said, pushing down on Keon’s shoulders. Landry got above him and smiled that fucking cold smile again. He brought his knife to Keon’s face. Keon tried to break from my hands, but I was too strong. The asshole couldn’t even move an inch.
The sound of police sirens blared in the distance.
“Landry,” I warned. “We need to get out of here. Now.” This place was too public. Someone had seen us. Not all the cops were on our payroll.
His eyes narrowed on me. “I won’t rush this.” He brought his knife to Keon’s throat and slowly sliced across his skin. Just to watch him bleed. “This is worth doing time for.” He met my eyes. “If we’re arrested by one who isn’t ours, we’ll only be in for a few years. You know we have protection against anything more. It’s our duty to get this revenge. This is for the Klan, Tank. For the brotherhood. For Roy . . .” He focused on Keon. “Now. Hold the impure bastard down. I’m gonna make this fucker scream . . .”
The sound of a truck backfiring cut through the memory and brought me back to the here and now. Calvin’s arm slipped from me, and he and his brothers went toward the sound of the noise. Some new drunk asshole drag racing on the land, no doubt.
I looked around me. People were starting to pass out drunk; the sun was starting to rise. I needed to get the fuck away. To be alone and just breathe. I walked around the back of the property to the bike shop, instantly relaxing at the sight of it. I was a motorcycle mechanic. This was my shop. I’d missed it.
I stopped dead. My bike was standing by the side of the shop. My saddlebags full of my things. My tools, clothes, every-fucking-thing.
Tanner stood to the side, an empty whiskey bottle in his hand. A fucking lump threatened to block my throat. “Tann . . .” I said, but he just nodded his head once and tried to walk away. “Tann!”
He turned his head. “Go. Before I ain’t got no choice but to put a fucking bullet through your skull.”
“Tann . . .” I said again, but he wasn’t saying fuck-all else. His flannel shirt was tied around his waist, revealing the swastika on the back of his sleeveless shirt. And I fucking watched him go until that swastika was out of sight.
My heart pounded. This was my one chance to get the fuck gone. I jumped on my bike and took the back route out of the ranch. I didn’t look back. I just fucking rode, to where . . . it really didn’t matter.
For the first time in my life, I was free.
Chapter Two
Susan-Lee
“And your new Miss Central Texas is . . .” My cheeks ached from holding my fake-ass smile. My feet felt unsteady as the shoes I was wearing cut into my skin. But wearing heels two sizes too small would do that to a bitch.
I caught sight of my mamma, hands on her face as the presenter undid the envelope. “Miss Susan-Lee Stewart!”
Flashing lights from snapping cameras bombarded me, and confetti cannons burst in the air above the stage. I felt the disappointment from the other girls on the stage, their jealousy and sadness thick like smoke, clogging the air. Flowers were pushed into my hands, a sash draped around my pink dress, and a crown placed upon my head.
I grinned and waved like the robot my mamma had made me into. I saw her smiling up at me from the stage. Smiling like it was her who had won. Hell, it was. I could literally give two shits about this life.
My lips started to quake as the fake smile strained the muscles of my face. My eyes roved over the clapping crowd like I was seeing it from above, seeing it from another person’s point of view. My heart pounded in my chest, and my head span.
What the hell am I doing here?
My feet stepped backward, then back again, until I spun around and fled from the stage. For once in my pathetic life I just ran, letting instinct take over. I ran and ran; even the torturous heels slicing into my feet didn’t stop me.
“Susan-Lee! SUSAN!” I heard my mamma’s voice from behind me. But there was no melting of the heart, no feeling guilty enough to stop. That bitch had made my life hell, and I was done. Her high-pitched shrill made me run that much faster, the bruise on my ribs pulsing with every step.