Page 132 of EX

Chapter 38

Corbin

The first threerepairs are done with surprising ease.

I make three phone calls to customers who are happy to hear the cost of their bills. I guess they thought it would be a lot more.

Mutt hasn’t been around yet and the place has been quiet.

And masturbation free.

I end up at the desk, searching through invoices and notes. I end up on the computer, digging through previous years records. Clicking tax returns and looking at business reports and company valuations.

Sure, this is a shitty, rundown garage, but it’s land. And a lot of it.

Another thing my uncle did wisely.

There’s the garage and the front lot. But there’s also plenty more.

The back lot. A side lot that’s overgrown but could be easily cleaned up for something. There’s a junkyard which to me hasserious value because the more shit that can get piled up there, the more it’ll be worth.

What the fuck are you doing, Corbin?

I touch my chin and then I lean back in the chair.

I put my hands behind my head, interlocking my fingers.

I’m trying to gather my thoughts.

Yeah, they dwell around my Katie girl. How can they not? She’s currently the basis of my existence. Yet there is zero purpose for me right now to be looking at the value of this garage and land. As though, what, I’m going to up and sell it all? Cash out and steal my Katie girl and we’re going to run off and live together forever? I’ll hold her every night after I fuck her senseless. I have her mouth, her cunt, and her ass. Everything is mine. She wants it. She can’t get enough of it.

I make fists and slam them down to the desk.

I stand up, throwing the chair back behind me, letting it slam against the wall.

I grit my teeth.

My Katie girl’s cunt is heavenly. And I’ve already confessed that I love her.

Fuck, I love her.

I’ve always loved her.

I love her in a way that’s just…

I hear the sound of a car door shutting.

I move from the office into the garage and see parked halfway into the lot there’s a shit box of a blue car with a guy standing there. He’s dressed in black jeans and a black long-sleeve shirt. Along with a black baseball hat. He reaches into the car and beeps the horn once and then takes off running.

Stupid me, I start running after the guy. I know I can’t catch him—he’s got a huge lead. And I’m sure there’s a car waiting to pick him up.

Somewhere in my head I scream to myself that the car is probably loaded up with explosives and it’s going to go off and kill me as I run by it.

I end up freezing in place, near the car, staring at it.

The world of drugs is violent, war-based, and there’s no help once you’re in it.

I can’t call the police.