Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90564 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Just give me some time,” I shouted, then continued down the street, anger and regret thumping through my veins.
I had forty-six days before Johan Taylor got out. And I was going to kill that motherfucker.
Chapter 39
LOLA
46 Days later
* * *
43 days later
Nothing beat a lazy Saturday of Hendrix, sex, and eating crap food. It had been over a month since we’d been back together, and it was as if we’d never been apart. I didn’t think I could possibly love him more than I did two years ago, but I did.
After getting expelled, he was studying for his GED. I was going to graduate in a few months, and thanks to the raffles, we almost had enough money to get the roof fixed. I even got to see my sister whenever I wanted, and Hendrix tolerated Chad. Life was finally good.
The last two years might have been worth it.
I’d just gotten off the phone with Gracie when I walked into the living room. Both Zepp and Hendrix’s attention was glued to the TV.
I passed by the Christmas tree filled with twinkling, colorful lights, and I fell onto the couch beside Hendrix. “What are we watching?”
“Some dumb crap Zepp turned on.”
Zepp glared at Hendrix from the recliner in the corner of the room. “It’s called Human Centipede.”
My attention drifted back to the screen just as a guy sewed someone’s lips to someone’s asshole. “What the hell, Zepp?”
“Tell me this isn’t entertaining,” he said, blowing another cloud of smoke through his lips. “The guy’s a grade-A psycho.”
“Just like your soulless, ginger girlfriend.”
Hendrix liked to make out as though he hated Monroe, but I didn’t think he could really hate someone who made his brother happy. He’d even stolen some fairy Christmas ornament with ginger hair and called it Red.
“Be nice,” I said, smacking his thigh.
He grabbed my hand and put it on his crotch. “I’ll give you nice.”
Zepp groaned. “Would you two shut up so I can watch this?”
Huffing, I glanced at the screen where they were still sewing assholes to faces. “I mean, does he shit in her mouth? Is she living on crap? Surely, the last person in the shit chain would die? So many questions.”
Hendrix nudged me. “How do they swallow all that shit without choking on their own vomit?”
“It’s not a very well thought out plot.”
“How much you want to bet the screenwriter got inspired by 2 Girls 1 Cup?”
The volume turned up, suspenseful music filling the room. “Stop talking,” Zepp said.
“I fucked Lola in your recliner this morning,” Hendrix said.” You’re sitting in our juices.”
Zepp chucked the remote at Hendrix before shoving out of the recliner and going into the kitchen.
“Consider it payback for all the times you desecrated our kitchen with Red’s hyena-howling ass.”
“Jail. I want to go back to jail,” he called before the bang of the back door sounded.
Snorting, I lay down and put my head on Hendrix’s thigh. His fingers dragged through the tangled strands of my hair. Everything with him was always chaotic and unpredictable, but I lived for these quiet moments when it was just us.
“Zepp’s gone,” I said. “Why are we still watching this?”
“It’s like a car crash. It makes you sick, but you can’t look away.”
A few more minutes of the terrible movie played before Hendrix’s steady sweeps through my hair stopped. “I had an idea about the raffles.”
We’d been doing them every week, making way more money than I had by stealing cars, and it was almost legal.
I rolled onto my back and looked up at him. “Yeah?”
“I’m thinking of getting a Coach bag to raffle at the wrestling match this week.”
He’d moved from football games to wrestling matches and any fundraiser he could find. But of all the things... I tried to work out how the hell his squirreled-out brain had decided on a purse. “Why a Coach bag?”
“Why not? Women like designer stuff. And there’s a Coach outlet over in Barrington.” He wasn’t wrong, but…
“How are you going to steal that?” I slid my hand beneath his shirt, absently stroking over the warm skin of his side. “Those designer stores have security guards. With two working eyes. And the bags are all tagged.”
“I’m not talking about stealing one.” A smirk lifted his lips just as a loud scream came from the movie. “I went by the outlet store earlier today. It’s one-sixty on sale, but it retails for four hundred. We’ve been making good money off small kitchen appliances. I bet we could make six hundred for a designer bag.”
Holy shit. He was serious. He’d researched prices and everything. I sat up on the couch and met his gaze. “You’re talking about doing something… legal?”
“Don’t say it like that.” The Christmas lights changed to blue, casting shadows over his face as he shuddered. “It feels dirty.”
Everyone gave Hendrix shit for being stupid, but he was actually really smart. On a grin, I pressed my lips to his. “I’m proud of you.”