Into the Nothing (Broken Outlaw Series Book 1) by BT Urruela Page B

though. He can bullshit with the best of them, and if there’s one thing you learn to appreciate in a man after hanging out with military guys, it’s a good bullshitter.
    He pours a bottle of water over his head, holding out another for me.
    “No, I’m fine, Jack.”
    “I think I’m just getting old,” he says, grunting loudly and tossing the water bottle into a wheelbarrow.
    “Pretty sure you’ve been old for quite some time.” I keep my face as straight as I can, but it’s moments from cracking. He takes the sweat soaked rag from around his neck and flings it directly at my head. I dodge it easily and pick it up, preparing my own throw.
    “Dude, you even throw like an old man!” I toss it at him lightly, and it falls to his feet.
    “Don’t let the diminishing arm speed fool you, kid. I still got old man strength, which means I can still kick your ass.” He sticks a forefinger into my chest and brushes past me, laughing his ass off.
    “I’m not so sure that whole old man strength thing is real, Jack. The science just doesn’t add up.” He laughs heartily again, making his way toward the house. Before he enters, he turns back around. “C’mon in for a second. I need you to run an errand for me.”
    I follow him inside, where he grabs his wallet from the counter and pulls out two twenties.
    “The ladies have made their demands. Can you stop over at Whittaker’s”—he grabs a small piece of paper from the counter and hands it to me—“and pick up some lunch? I guess they’re tied up.”
    “No problem at all.” I take the cash from him and start out the door.
    “Grab something for yourself too. I don’t need any change.”
    I look back, a slanted smile on my face.
    “Who said you were getting any change back?” I wink at him and he laughs, brushing me off with his hand.
    “Get the fuck outta here, you turd.”
    “Turd? You’re really showing your age there, old man. Nobody says turd anymore.”

    Watson Metalworks takes up an entire block in downtown Truman Valley. The huge welded metal sign sets itself drastically apart from the rest of Main Street in a way that draws the eye almost immediately. Large windows cover the entire face of the building, and inside I can see it’s broken up into two sections: a display room with different metal sculptures lining shelves on the walls and in display cases scattered throughout the room. In the other, larger room, I can see Teresa busy at work on a sculpture. It looks like a dragon, or maybe a bird, I can’t quite tell.
    I open the front door and enter the display area. A delicate tone sounds as the door swings shut behind me. Almost immediately, Paige’s head pops around the corner. Her eyes go wide when she sees the greasy bag in my hand.
    “Yesssssss!” she says. “Meatball sub!”
    She walks around the corner, the Watson Metalworks polo delicately clinging to her beautiful curves. I laugh as she skips toward me and snatches the bag from my hands.
    “Took you long enough, stranger. Hmmph!” She turns, swinging her hair enough to whip me in the face with it, and she prances to the studio
    I follow close behind, almost as if I’m on a leash. Shame on you, Xander.
    “Xander!” Teresa calls as she sees me. “I was about to send out a search party.”
    “Sorry, ma’am, Brandi’s working.” Both Teresa and Paige look at each other, knowing full well what I mean.
    “Oh well, then I’m shocked you made it at all!” She grabs the bag from Paige and digs out her Caesar salad in a hurry. “And didn’t I talk to you about calling me ‘ma’am’ already?”
    “No, ma’am, I don’t believe you did.” I crack a smile.
    “Well, it’s Teresa from now on, you got it? We’re gonna break you of that eventually.” She squints her eyes, attempting to look tough.
    “Yes, ma’am.” This time it’s completely out of habit, but they burst out laughing anyway.
    “You’re a mischievous one!” Teresa starts to dig into her salad, and I