Wring: Road Kill MC #5 by Marata Eros

Author:Marata Eros
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: dark, alpha, motorcycle club, tamara rose blodgett, marata eros, road kill mc

Chapter 10

Shannon

The Realtor is a smarmy guy with slicked-back hair and perpetually pursed lips. His mouth is an angry line underneath a beaky nose.

But he came highly qualified. His real estate company is rated number one in the state. I heave a mental sigh.

“Maybe two hundred thousand,” he sniffs, closing the drape over the window that faces the busy street.

Herman Humphries has already trudged with his expensive tie-up loafers across our diminutive backyard. An old cyclone fence from the fifties still guards the perimeter of the loosely rectangular parcel, and the clothesline runs from one side of the yard to the other like a sad piece of punctuation.

A tiny strip of cracked and weathered concrete circles from the back of the house and meets the front walk.

Humphries turns, giving my mom a condescending smile, and my heart drops. Vincent had offered to buy the place for fifty thousand more.

Plus my body. Might as well sell my soul to the devil.

I swallow, shoring up bravery. “I thought it was worth a bit more.”

Mom is silent.

“Yes, well, during the bubble in 2005 to 2007, we could have got mid-threes for this piece. But now”—he shrugs dismissively—“it's only worth what the comps show.” He slaps a pile of paperwork on our small kitchen table and gives a grim chin flick toward them. “These are the comparable properties sold in the last three months.”

I glance at the papers. My vision blurs as I see figures lower than two hundred thousand. Damn.

I look up into his face. He wears a vague and slightly amused smile. I study my Converse shoes, thinking of what to say.

“I could try to put your property on the market for one ninety-nine,” he says like he's doing us a favor.

I meet his eyes again. “Thank you for coming, Mr. Humphries,” I manage to choke out. “I think my mom and I will need a day to think it over.”

“Suit yourself.” He reaches out to shake Mom's hand, but she doesn't move.

Shaking hands is painful for her, and he's too stupid to notice her issues.

His lips lift in distaste, and he turns to me. His smile brightens. “I'll leave you with the card of another client of mine who might be willing to pay more before listing.”

My heart begins to race. More? Fantastic.

He shakes my hand, slipping a business card into my palm. I try not to peek as the pompous prick makes the short way to the door.

I let him out and close the door, carefully engaging the million locks.

Mom's face is sour. “That man is the president of his own fan club.”

“Uh-huh,” I murmur, opening my hand to check out the card.

Vincent sends his regards, it reads. Bastard.

I close my hand in a fist, squeezing my eyes shut. I just gave this loser free reign of my property.

He’s obviously the one who set this wheel in motion with the purchase of the commercial buildings that flank our house to the bitter end.

God.

I try not to cry, but the effort makes me want to hyperventilate.

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