Total pages in book: 32
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 30428 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 152(@200wpm)___ 122(@250wpm)___ 101(@300wpm)
After being confronted by his past in bloody fashion, Koen no longer wants to lead a life of violence. He wants quiet and solitude in his home overlooking the ocean. But when a young, hazel eyed beauty has the nerve to almost drown in the turbulent waters and requires rescuing, he'll stop at nothing to keep the one woman to ever challenge his surly nature, her ulterior motives be damned.
*************FULL BOOK START HERE*************
1
Meg
Iopen the front door of my house to find a woman staring back at me.
My first impression is: boss bitch.
She’s tall, her navy-blue pant suit is impeccable, gray hair pulled into a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her hands are clasped behind her back. I’ve never had someone stare at me down the length of their nose, but that’s exactly what she’s doing. Observing me like a scientist watches a mouse trying to navigate a maze.
One of my four younger siblings is wailing for Cheerios from within the house and I really don’t have time for whatever this woman is going to say, but this is not a salesman. Nor is she someone who gets doors closed in her face. I’m rendered sort of immobile as her sharp brown eyes trail down to my ratty sneakers, up the length of my bike shorts and oversized Ghostbusters T-shirt, stopping at my brunette bedhead and sighing.
“Child, please go get your father. And don’t keep me waiting.”
All bets are off now that she’s been condescending. Above all things, I hate when someone assumes I’m insignificant. Too young or poor to matter.
“My father is sleeping off another bender, lady. What can I do for you?” I smile with teeth. “And I’m eighteen. Not a child. Old enough to work two jobs and one side hustle to feed these various-sized monsters behind me. If you’ll excuse me, I need to get them dressed and out the door for daycare and school.”
A pause, accompanied by a flick of her eyebrow. “I don’t excuse you.”
“You must be really important to somebody. But that somebody isn’t me.”
“You’re kind of a hothead, aren’t you?”
I shrug. “Runs in the family.”
The woman hums in her throat, eyeing me with new interest. “Are you a gambler, as well?” she asks. “Speaking of what runs in the family.”
I’m hit by a blast of awareness. If I hadn’t been too distracted by the family’s morning routine, I would have realized who I was speaking to. Or at least why she was on my doorstep. “My father owes you money, doesn’t he?”
“A very large sum of money.”
I swallow hard. “How large?”
She runs her gaze along the sagging eaves. “This house wouldn’t cover it.”
Panic is beginning to settle in my middle. This isn’t the first time someone has come to the door looking for money that my father has already gambled away. But last time, my mother was still around to handle it. She’s not here anymore. I woke up one morning to find all of her belongings missing and a note beneath an empty glass of orange juice on the kitchen table. It simply read, “sorry.”
Imagine leaving five kids behind and drinking the last of the orange juice.
There are layers of selfishness to my parents I will never understand—and I don’t have time to try since I’ve taken on both of their roles in the house.
“I don’t have the money to pay you,” I say. “I can just about pay the mortgage and keep clothes on everyone’s backs.”
She squints her eyes in mock sympathy. “That’s hardly my problem, is it?”
Maybe it’s the chaotic morning or the fact that my impromptu visitor is going to make me late for my shift driving Uber…or maybe it’s just this woman’s vulture-like personality, but now I’m getting irritated. “God, are there any decent adults left out there?” I cross my arms and lean on the doorframe. “Because coming from the perspective of someone who has been answering to angry grownups my whole life, you all seem to fall into one of two categories. Either you’re extremely entitled. Or you’re bitter, disappointed with the way your life turned out and blaming it on my generation.”
Not a flinch. “What does this have to do with the money you owe me?”
I stare back at her blankly. “I’m never going to be like you. Or them. I’m not going to let life shove me into one of those categories.” I realize I’m raging at someone who doesn’t really care what I have to say, making this a waste of time. “I don’t have your money,” I finish, reaching for the door to close it, mentally sorting through the cabinets for the Cheerios. Do we have any? I don’t—
“Wait.”
“Nah.”
The woman releases a short, rusty laugh. “Okay, I must admit. Reluctantly, I find you very interesting, Meg.”
My body jolts slightly in surprise. “How…do you know my name?”
Instead of answering, she furrows her brow as she studies me. A lot closer than before. “Before we go any further, I need you to understand something.”
“Who said we were going any further?”
“I’m Etta Krop. And Meg, I’m not someone you disrespect,” she says, her voice suddenly very quiet. Her brown eyes sharpen and the coldest shiver I’ve ever experienced tracks down my spine. Maybe I’m imagining things, but I swear, I can see the promise of misery and death in those eyes. She’s the kind of person who delivers those things, swiftly and without remorse. She communicates all of that to me in the space of a few seconds.