Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
My dad’s words played in my head from one of the many speeches I’d gotten when growing up about the issue of law enforcement.
“When in doubt, sweetie, be honest but vague until you can talk to one of us. You never want to get caught in a lie. But that doesn’t mean you need to give them the full truth.”
I was going to go ahead and trust those words still held true.
Then, after talking to the mafia and the club, I could decide just how accurate a description I would give to the sketch artist.
“As soon as possible would be best. While the images are still fresh in your mind. Our sketch artist will be in tomorrow, if you’re available.”
“I, uh, yeah. Okay.”
“Great. I think that will be all. Do we have her contact information?” he asked Clark. He got a grumbling answer. Then the two of them both walked away.
I still didn’t dare approach Perish or Matteo.
Instead, I made my way back over toward the catering staff and guests who, I assumed, saw nothing, since they were inside. They were all standing around, faces confused, shifting uncomfortably without anyone to guide them since the police officers walked off to talk to the detectives.
“Is everyone okay?” I asked, gathering up my shaky sense of authority.
Yes, I was good at what I did. But it was really difficult at times for me to see myself as, let alone act as any sort of leader.
“We didn’t even know anything was happening for a while,” the divorcee admitted. “I mean, we were all really tipsy.”
That was an understatement. When I’d exited, they were all skirting that line between fun tipsy and completely shit-faced.
“And the music was so loud and the… entertainment…” another of the women said, her face flushing lobster-red.
The ‘entertainment’ was still standing in his barely-there thong, not looking the least bothered by his near nudity.
“But then there was a break in the music and we heard the thunking sounds…”
“And then a bullet shattered the ice man’s chest.”
I glanced past the women and into the barn, seeing the collapsed ice figure.
“It was two feet away from me,” another woman, pale as a sheet, declared.
One of her friends put an arm around her.
“What is this world coming to?” another asked. “You can’t even attend a little divorce party without getting shot at.”
I tamped down the guilt that immediately built inside of me. Because I knew who this venue belonged to. I knew there was no such thing as guaranteed safety in the criminal world. Not even for their legitimate businesses.
I hadn’t chosen the venue.
It had been in my book of choices.
The divorcee liked the barn.
It wasn’t my place to try to persuade her otherwise.
“I was having the time of my life before this, though,” the divorcee said.
“It really was so fun,” another of the women said.
“And, hey, the shootout will make for a thrilling story for all your future first dates.”
My stomach, which had tangled itself into knots, loosened. I hated to admit, after such a serious incident, that I was worried about the reputation of my business. About low star ratings and them not recommending me to their friends.
Silly worries, in the grand scheme of things, but my business was still in its infancy. I couldn’t even quit my day job yet. I needed every event to go well.
“You really did work magic,” the divorcee said, giving me a soft, knowing smile. Like she understood that, aside from my worries about everyone’s safety and mental health, that I was concerned about my business as well.
I chatted with the guests and staff for a few more minutes before the police finally told us we could head out.
The limo collected the drunken women with their penis-printed gift bags full of books and sex toys. I helped the caterer load things back into their truck and watched them drive away.
I made my way back into the barn, stripping tables of trash and compiling all the leftover food to drop off at the clubhouse.
It wasn’t until all the busy work was finally done that my mind would let me think back to the event, to how close I’d been to having my body riddled with bullets.
If not for Perish and his giant body pushing mine to the ground and trapping me beneath him.
I knew it was the same way any of the club members would have reacted. All the way up from my uncles to my cousins to the prospects with no prior history with us.
Still, I couldn’t shake the feeling that it felt more, I don’t know, personal.
Which was stupid.
I mean, it was literally just a human shield sort of situation.
But the second his body was pressed to mine, my mind went… places.
Weird, unexpected, primal places.
I mean, I’d known Perish for a long time already. In a distant way. It wasn’t like we hung out or anything. The girls and I spent less and less time at the clubhouse now that several of them were busy falling in love, getting married, and building lives.