Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
For five years I’ve used her memories to get off. I’ve sullied her mental image with skanks and sweetbutts just so I could feel alive again even if it’s for the briefest of moments.
A loud, blaring wail blasts from my desk, next to the open bottle of whiskey. The sound letting me know I’ve got a fucking call.
Motherfucker.
“God fucking dammit!” I shout at the ceiling as I slam my hand on the back of Snowbird’s head. “Don’t you fuckin’ stop.”
She struggles against my hand for a few seconds before she makes a gagging sound of acknowledgement. She’ll keep going if she doesn’t want to be kicked out of the club on her scrawny bleach-blonde ass.
Snatching the phone off the desk, I see it’s Poster Boy before I push the connect button. “What the fuck is it?”
“Hey, boss man. I’ve got an issue I thought you might want to know about,” Poster Boy says quietly into the phone.
I try to keep the sigh of annoyance out of my voice as I lean back into the chair again. “What’s goin’ on, brother?”
Snowbird keeps sucking on my cock, but she might as well be sucking a fucking doorknob. This is going to ruin my mood. I can just tell whatever he’s calling about is not conducive to me getting my nut off.
“I’m at the Walmart…” Poster Boy says, and he’s still being so quiet I can barely hear him over Snowbird’s slurping.
“What? They have a fucking twofer on toilet bowl cleaners?” I snap.
If this is something fucking stupid, I’ll have his ass on prospect-watching duty for a fucking week.
“Funny, boss man. No. I’ve got eyes on a chick walking around right now. She looks an awful fuckin’ lot like Allie.”
My heart skips two beats and I swear from the pain that lances throughout my entire body I’m about to have a fucking heart attack.
Just the name Allie… That name.
“You better be fuckin’ sure about this, Poster Boy,” I cough into the phone when the air finally returns to my lungs.
“Let me see if I can snap a picture for you. Not sure if she’s picked up on me followin’ her yet.”
Grabbing Snowbird roughly by the hair, I yank her off my cock. “Get the fuck out of here.”
“What?” she asks, startled.
“Get the fuck out of here!” I roar at her as I stand and start dragging her stupid fucking ass to the door of my office by her arm.
Dropping her by the door, I yank it open and then put my boot to her naked ass before I give her a hefty shove.
Slamming the door closed, I put my cock and balls back in my jeans and start zipping my shit up.
“Text incoming with the pic,” Poster Boy says over the phone. “Kid must have spotted me, but I still got the pic.”
“What the fuck do you mean kid?” I ask.
“She’s got some kid with her who noticed me skulking about,” he says.
Kid?
“How old?” I ask with a snarl.
“How the fuck would I know? I don’t deal with kids,” he chortles.
“Alright,” I say as I pace back and forth across the office.
As soon as I hear the chime, I pull the phone away from my ear and look at the pic.
There, in vivid color, is the woman I’ve dreamed and thought of for the past five fucking years.
Putting the phone back up to my ear, I say, “Follow her and call me when she lands. I don’t give a fuck where.”
Chapter Eight
Allie
I don’t know why, but it hurts more to stop and rest than it does to keep moving.
So I keep moving.
First, I help Levi pee outside in a bush because the bathrooms inside are so filthy we’d need hazmat suits to avoid catching a disease. Then I start tackling one of the upstairs bedrooms.
The one that looks like it used to be a little kid’s room.
The mess here isn’t as bad as the rest of the house, mostly dirty clothes and little toys left behind, but there’s enough garbage that it pulls at my heartstrings.
I hope the child that lived here is somewhere better now.
Picking up a broken lightsaber, I glance over at Levi.
He’s standing quietly by the window, watching me with a frown. Unhappy I wouldn’t let him help.
I shove the broken lightsaber into my half-full garbage bag and ask, “Do you need me to hot spot you?”
He shakes his head and his frown deepens. “I’m sick of the iPad.”
God, I hate when he frowns at me like that. I know he’s not doing it on purpose, but it always makes me uneasy.
Like he’s judging me…
He’s only four, but when he looks at me the way he is right now, I swear I can picture exactly what he will look like when he’s older.
I can picture it so clearly in my mind, it unnerves the hell out of me.