Page 11 of Property of Bull
I fist my hands and without any intention of doing so, a growl explodes from my chest. Almost comically, both of their jaws drop open knowing that I’ll unleash hell if I need to step outside in this fucking weather.
Slamming the door, I stalk back to my shower. It’s colder than a witch’s tit out so the warm spray of water helps to unshrivel my cock a little, then the thought of Margo wakes him the rest of the way up.
If I didn’t have a full day’s work here, I’d be heading back into town to track her ass down. My best guess is that Rage clocked her as ‘a girl next door’ type due to her lack of make-up. Her dark hair made her flawless skin look like buttermilk, which in turn made the blue of her eyes shine even brighter. I’ve been with beautiful women before, but something about her threw me off center enough that I didn’t think to mention the mailbox situation.
The fact that she didn’t hesitate to admit she didn’t know how to use the tow ropes was a welcome change from all theYouTubeexperts in the world today.
Until I get her in my bed, I honestly can’t think of any other woman I’d even want as a placeholder. Not even my hand, right now. I want to fuck her lips, pussy, then her ass. After that, I’ll get on with my life.
Grabbing a towel, I hear the incessant buzz of my cell phone and reach for that.
“This better be good news.”
Rage knows me well enough not to snort at my greeting.
“Everything’s rosy. They’re hunkered down until we decide what to do.”
“I’ll be there in a couple of hours, and we’ll discuss next steps,” I inform him, reading between the lines.
We got lucky this time, but this shit cannot happen again. Getting dressed to go outside to evaluate what I need to repair my storage shed, I mentally start making a list. Alli and the others will need to be dealt with.
Considering Frost has probably got the girls locked down somewhere, being smart enough not to be caught with a truck load of hostages, I know I could just let him deal with all of them. Quick and easy.
Except, I’ve got a few prospects that have yet to participate in the darker end of our business and I think it’s time that at least two of them get their hands dirty. We’re getting close to a vote on them, so timewise this actually works out well.
Upon closer inspection, the damage to my storage shed isn’t as bad as it looks. One of the horizontal beams will need to be replaced, and to be on the safe side, I’ll replace one of the posts supporting it, but I won’t need to scrap the whole thing.
The tarp will hold for the most part, so I take a moment to look around at anything that can’t survive the elements.
And that comes down to some boxes my dad had stuffed in here eons ago. Stacking two of them, I get them into the house before returning for the next two. My phone rings and I see that Glenn’s calling and all I can think is that man needs a hobby that doesn't include me.
But I like the old guy and can’t imagine a better neighbor, so I pick up the call.
“I have time to help you with your mailbox if you’re done puttering around your shed,” he says without preamble.
“Glenn, man, you’ve got to point your scope anywhere else except my fucking property,” I reply, knowing he’ll no more listen to me now than the other fifty times I asked him.
“I found some cinderblocks and had the boys load ‘em up. I’ll be there in a few and you can use them to prop up the mailbox until the ground thaws.”
With that he disconnects the call and I head out to grab the other two boxes from the shed. Not sure of what’s in there, I don’t want the elements to eat away at their contents. Then, pulling on my work gloves, I go to meet Glenn at the end of my driveway.
Glenn’s plan isn’t perfect, but it’s better than my approach of bitching about the fucking wreck I have now. I make short work of stacking the blocks around the broken post, then spend twenty minutes shooting the shit with a man I practically consider to be my uncle.
The painful sound of the mail truck laboring its way up the rise has us turning our heads. Glenn throws a hand up in greeting, happy to see Leavers when he comes to a stop beside us.
“Yeah, yeah. Glad you’re getting this fixed,” Leavers says by way of greeting. “We’re due to have a clear few days then it’s looking bad after that.”
Leaning in, he flips through the bundles beside him before handing me a single envelope and then giving Glenn a bundle.
I frown, looking at the envelope that doesn’t have a stamp on it. The flap isn’t sealed so I easily open it and pull the paper out.
“The fuck?” I mutter, seeing a bill for a hundred and fifty bucks. Unfolding the paper, I read the rest of the invoice. “Are you fucking kidding me? What the fuck is this shit?”
The men beside me share a look, before I can verbalize what I’m looking at.
“I’m getting billed for being towed out of a ditch yesterday!”
Glenn and Leavers start asking questions about what happened and how lucky I was to get pulled out without having to call anyone as I stand there sputtering with rage.
