Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Fuck.
What a fucking selfish bitch.
I didn’t relay that thought to her, though.
Her issues weren’t just affecting her now. They were affecting other people.
“Why the hell were you driving when you could’ve just as easily called an Uber?” I asked. “Not to mention, the hospital is like an eight-minute walk. You could’ve just as easily have walked.”
“The medicine I’m taking messed up my right foot. I can barely put any weight on it.”
I didn’t point out that she could put weight on it about two seconds ago but was now all of a sudden not able to.
“Next time you need something, I want you to call me,” I ordered. “I want you to leave Chevy out of it. He doesn’t need to be dealing with your issues on top of his own.”
Reign’s eyes laser focused on me. “You’ll take me to the hospital if I need a ride? I won’t have to call him?”
“You won’t call him ever,” I demanded. “And instead, you’ll call 9-1-1 if you desperately need to get to the hospital. If you don’t need to get there fast, you’ll call a ride-share. If I’m home, and available, and have the inclination, then I’ll take you.”
That seemed to be enough for her because she said, “I’ll call you, Copper.”
I nodded. “Go home, Reign.”
“I’ll see you at the office tomorrow?”
I fucking hoped not.
It was too bad that she was the best forensic accountant that we knew.
It was even worse that the company needed it at all.
One
I carry sarcasm around with me like housekeys. Don’t ask me nothin’ dumb.
—Copper’s secret thoughts
COPPER
Present day
Life was good.
Not great, but still good.
If only I didn’t have to worry about my late father’s business, things would be perfect.
The thought of “just sell it and get the fuck out” once again ran through my brain, but again, I shut it down.
This whole plan would be the biggest fuck you to all involved.
Every person that expected me to fail.
Every asshole that helped fund my father’s assistant’s plan to keep me in jail for as long as possible.
In the end, they would all pay.
I’d take all of their money.
I’d take all of their clients.
I’d build this entire empire up before bringing it right back to the ground.
Fuck anyone and everyone that invested in it.
They could all rot in hell for all I cared.
I had to focus on the long game.
Not the short term, which was telling me that this whole plan was going to take forever, and maybe my stress level couldn’t handle it.
At least I got to work with Keely while I saw my plan through.
She knew the plan.
She approved of the plan.
She had no love lost for my dad’s business, either.
She barely kept it afloat after my grandfather finally wrestled it free from the hands of the corrupt board.
Not that I cared.
I was just glad there was something left of it for me to ruin.
“No brothers tonight?”
I looked up and grinned at my club brother, Hagrid.
These men had taken me in when I was eighteen as a prospect and had patched me into the fold when I was in prison.
I might’ve not gotten into the Truth Tellers MC the traditional way, but I’d made myself invaluable to them in the only way I could.
For fifteen years, I’d settled Truth Tellers’ debts in prison, and now I was finally able to do that for them as a “free” man.
As free as a man could be who had a felony under his belt, anyway.
“Chevy’s in his room,” I answered. “Cutter’s baking cakes or some shit. I’m not sure. Milena had him busy, though, so he doesn’t plan on coming.”
“Cakes?” Cakes asked. “What kind?”
I snorted. “You would be curious about that.”
Cakes got his road name Cakes because he made fuckin’ awesome cakes.
Something that I couldn’t confirm seeing as I wasn’t allowed to taste one when I was behind those prison walls, and he’d yet to make a cake since I’d got out.
I wasn’t salty at all about that…
“Well, a man who loves cakes would generally be interested in that,” Webber, our club president and one of my best friends, said. “Not that Copper would know. You’ve yet to make him something he could taste.”
Cakes winced. “I’ll do that soon.”
I doubted that. He’d been saying that since I got out.
He was supposed to make my coming home cake, but the man was busier than the president.
He ran One Love, Dallas, which was a community outreach center that helped feed, clothe, and house down on their luck members of the Dallas veteran community and its surrounding areas.
He also started running the newest venture of the Truth Tellers, a veteran-owned and operated halfway house that helped veterans find a job, a place to live, and gave them support they needed to succeed in life after getting out of the military.
It was understandably taking up all of his time, and I was more than okay with him staying afloat over making me a cake.