It was the eighth text he’d gotten from Durant that day. This time Durant wasn’t mincing words.
Get your ass over to the clubhouse.
The first three texts had inquired as to why Garrett was absent from the auto shop. The next four told him in progressively more insistent terms that he needed to go make things right with Silverback, with the other Fury.
What was the point? The Fury were f*****g doomed. Russell Powers owned them now, and Garrett ought to cut ties with them for good. Ought to leave with Kelsey, right now. Three days, he reminded himself. Three days to get as much cash as he could.
They had a little saved, but they needed more if they were going to truly and effectively hide themselves from Russell’s watchful eye.
Garrett?More texts.Talk to me. Please.
Damn, you’re worse
