Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 82187 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 411(@200wpm)___ 329(@250wpm)___ 274(@300wpm)
Lawson stared regretfully after his bike, knowing he was running out of assets.
“Money talks,” the kid mumbled condescendingly.
“Yeah, whatever. Here’s the lid.” Law handed over the custom-made, black helmet with the plumes of white smoke streaked along the sides—since vapors and smoke were Law’s pyrotechnic specialty.
Sighing, he leaned against the side of his SUV as he scoped out the interior of the fancy silver sports car purring next to his run-down Explorer. The ivory leather seats were gorgeous and without a speck of dust on them.
“She’s a beaut, ain’t she?” The kid shot Law a cheesy you-wish-you-had-it-like-me grin and walked around to the driver’s side door.
Law shrugged as if he wasn’t impressed.
He stared down at his latest special effects prop he’d removed from his pocket. He rolled it around in his palm, heating and activating the outer layer while arguing with himself not to overreact and get into more trouble.
Fuck, he wanted to throw the ball right in the man’s face and watch it explode.
Once the bomb was released from his hand, the thin-coated plastic would dissolve instantly and fill the space with harmless vapors, creating a dense layer of white smoke. But Law had altered the formula to turn the smoke from white to black.
He was using the new gadget to audition for a commercial they were shooting at Blackhole Studios, and he was putting in his bid to provide the special effects.
It was a long drop from Paramount in Los Angeles.
If it wasn’t for his own ego and stupidity, he’d still be the hottest pyro/demolitions technician in Hollywood and in very high demand.
But after being banned from the industry last year, he’d sold as many of his possessions as he could to pay off most of his debts.
When one fell in this business, they fell hard.
The kid leaned over and laughed out of the passenger window. “Nice doing business with ya.”
Suckerrrr, Law attached to the end of that sentence.
When the prick turned to check his sideview mirror, and before Law could think better of it, he flung the vapor bomb into the back seat of the GT.
The kid powered up his window and jerked away from the curb.
Law watched as the trailer got farther up the street with his second-most prized possession on top of it and Mr. Moneybags coasting behind it.
Law stood watching.
Is it gonna work?
He was sure the vape-balls were ready to demo, but now, he was concerned about how much magnesium he’d added.
Maybe I didn’t—
Law froze as the silver car screeched to a halt, tires skidding before it slammed against the curb. Pedestrians scattered as the driver’s door burst open and thick black smoke billowed out in a dense mushroom cloud towards the sky.
Damn, that’s sexy.
The guy fell out of the car and rolled across the asphalt as if he were on fire.
His white jacket was covered with black carbon particles no amount of dry-cleaning would get out.
“Holy shit,” Law cursed, pulling his ball cap back on and rushing into his apartment building.
As he worked throughout the day, he laughed each time he thought of that guy’s screams and the panicked look on his face.
Richie Rich just knew his car, his ass, and his ugly leather coat were on fire. But it was all just a pyrotechnic illusion Law was well known for.
Man, he’s gonna pay at least two thousand to detail that GT. Law laughed even louder. Should’ve paid me the eight thousand.
He sat at his workstation preparing for his audition tomorrow, tweaking the moles of hexane, the borax, and adding some flakes of iron for more spark to his white vapor.
The commercial was spotlighting the annual Atlanta Jazz Concert coming at the end of winter, which could have him sitting pretty for a few weeks if he landed it.
Law was so overqualified for a measly local commercial, but he was praying every five seconds that he’d get it.
Law took a break after a couple of hours and stood to stretch his back.
He glanced out of the window of his one-bedroom apartment in the Harmony Plaza complex on the south side of the city, scoffing at the name.
There was no harmony, and there was no fucking plaza. Only broke-ass people like him scrounging to get by.
Law shook his head.
He was back home with his tail tucked between his legs.
Back to where it all began.
Good ole Atlanta.
“Are you serious? A commercial… A local commercial?”
Wes walked laps around his mother’s two-story town home as his agent tried to sell him on an audition that was so insulting he was having a hard time understanding the specifications of the job.
“What the hell are you thinking?”
“I’m thinking that you said you’re strapped for cash and need work,” Forest said dryly.
“I meant in LA. I meant something I can make a comeback with.”
Wes plopped down on the couch and leaned back against the crocheted quilt. He yanked the scratchy material away from him with a curse and tossed it onto the coffee table.