Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 74428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 372(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 248(@300wpm)
That being said, we were heading back into the coldest part of winter, and as I had learned over time, the icy wind slapping your face even just doing thirty on some back roads left your face chapped and painful.
I was thankful for the roof and windows of the SUV and the heat blasting through the vents.
What can I say, I was raised in the tropics where it was practically summer all year round. Maybe it wasn't manly to admit it, but my system didn't handle cold as well as the natives around here could.
So I went ahead and put the butt and steering wheel warmers on too.
No point in having the luxury shit if no one used them.
The drive was just a couple hours down the deserted coast.
Beaches reminded me of home, about getting out of the hell of my house to carelessly jump around the waves, keeping an eye on my sisters while they played. A fair chunk of my life was spent with warm sand sifting between my toes, the sun warming me, saltwater drying on my skin.
There was the occasional chance for that here too, when things were quiet enough with the club that I could sneak away, joining the overcrowded beaches overrun with out-of-towners who packed like they were moving in - tents, umbrellas, blow-up pools, three coolers, chairs, misting fans, solar panels to charge their phones and the tablets for their screen-addicted kids - when all you really needed was a bottle of water and a towel. And even the towel was optional.
With V gone, hopefully things would be quiet for a while, letting everyone sit back, relax, get away for a few days.
We were all due.
And as much as I loved my club, I would like a small reminder of home.
It was why I set my mom up in a bungalow on a hill overlooking the beach. She could open her windows in the morning, let in the salty air, pack a small bag, and take a ten minute walk across a bridge and onto the beach, collect the mermaid's toenails she liked to painstakingly poke tiny holes in, stringing them together to make a fence around her backyard, the translucent shells catching the light or clicking together in slight winds.
We couldn't be in Puerto Rico anymore, but I wanted her to have a place that could - even in a small way - remind her of it.
It had been my mission in life since we left - fleeing under the cover of night - that someday, I would give her the life she always deserved. I hated watching her work two jobs to keep food in our mouths when we were younger, living in noisy apartments with roaches in the sinks. It wasn't until I joined up with The Henchmen that I finally had the money to buy her a house. She partially retired, just working at a little town store that she enjoyed to have social interaction now that all my sisters were off on their own. But she didn't have to work.
That was my dream for her.
I had finally made it a reality.
Sure, it meant I was a few years off from getting my own place. But I didn't need one. I had the compound with my own room and bathroom. And it was free of charge. Besides, what did I need a place for? Just to have another yard to mow?
See, when you signed up to be part of a biker gang - an outlaw one at that - you didn't exactly think that your life would involve sweating your ass off mowing the grounds. But that was what I had spent my summer doing. It would normally have ended when I got patched-in. But since there were no new prospects, the job still needed to be done.
So, yeah, I didn't need another patch of grass to mow or floors to scrub or repairs to work on.
Maybe someday.
When I was ready to settle down, give a woman a nest to fill with shit only women knew things about. Curtains and carpets and those pillows they toss on everything. A place she could get round in, giving me some sons and daughters of my own.
Someday.
But not anytime soon.
For now, my life was full.
Brotherhood, women, riding, the occasional dose of action.
It kept life interesting, but comfortable.
It was a balance I was happy with.
I pulled off the parkway into LBI, driving through the area of McMansions before they faded away to actual mansions, ten mil a pop easy for each one. All different, but with similar features. The wraparound porches on multiple levels, raised foundations, in-ground pools, just a few hundred yards to the waterfront.
My GPS had me going to the end of the street to an estate settled on a piece of property that both had sand toward the front and acres of property to the back, hidden from view by six-foot-tall stone walls with spikes on top.