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)
Poster Boy walks toward the kitchen with the kid slung over his shoulder and asks him, “Whatcha hungry for?”
Grem looks me in the eyes and we’re both too fucking stunned to talk.
“What the fuck?” I finally ask after a couple of minutes when the kid doesn’t put up a fuss.
“Kid ain’t making noises, though,” Grem says. Then, looking to the kitchen, he shouts to Poster Boy, “I’ll handle the Sheriff.”
“Sure,” Poster Boy replies before he goes right back to talking to the kid about food.
I can’t understand how that kid ain’t goin’ fuckin’ nuts, but I’m not about to look a gift horse in the mouth. I’m not exactly crazy about that fuck being near my kid either, but I ain’t got a lot of options.
Fuck.
“Grem,” I say, and motion with my one free hand before I sweep Allie up into my arms. “What the fuck happened?”
Shrugging his shoulders, he motions for me to follow him into the dining room where the former tenants left behind a shitty dining table.
“Fainted, most likely,” he says and helps me lay her down on the table.
“Like in them old movies and shit?” I ask.
“Looks like it,” he says as he bends down to peer at her head. “Coy…”
“What?” I ask as I watch him lick his thumb. Then a low, dangerous growl comes out of me when he gently uses that licked thumb to rub around the skin beneath her left eye. “Why you fucking touching her?”
“Look at this,” he says, and motions for me to come closer, ignoring my angry words.
Moving around to his side, I see his thumb is wiping off her makeup and revealing something dark underneath it. “What the fuck?”
Straightening away from her, Grem walks over to the window closest to us and yanks the bedsheet off the rod. Pulling his phone out of his pocket, he swipes at the screen and pushes it a couple of times.
“I’m gonna call Sheriff Jones. You might want to take stock of what’s been done to her,” he says and walks by me. “That makeup ain’t coverin’ the black eye she was trying to hide.”
A black eye.
“What the fuck, Allie?” I ask her unresponsive face.
“Poster, call Pappy’s wife and get her over to my house. I need it cleaned, pronto. Then call Pappy and get this shithole cleaned and fixed up. Tell him to use the prospects and whoever else ain’t on a job,” I say loud enough for him to hear me in the kitchen before turning back to Allie.
“Sure,” he calls back.
Fuck, what the hell happened to my fucking girl?
Pulling a bandana from my back pocket, I jog over to the kitchen and turn on the tap water. Thankfully the water’s still runnin’. Wetting the cloth quickly, I look over to see Poster on the phone with one hand while the other is helping the kid peel a banana.
What the fuck? I swear I’ve walked into the twilight zone.
Levi looks up at me with some fucking dark blue eyes though when he notices I’m watching him. “Are you going to hurt mommy like Mikhail did?”
My body goes stiff as a fucking board at that question—am I going to hurt mommy.
“Who?” I ask.
Poster Boy puts his hand over the mouthpiece of his phone and motions to get my attention.
“Gonna need to talk to you, Pres,” he says before going back to his phone.
“About?” I ask but refuse to look away from Levi.
“Adult stuff I was told,” Poster says.
“Got it,” I say, and I’m bettin’ whatever Levi just asked me has to do with what Poster is going to tell me.
My blood is about to fucking boil when I ask Levi, “Who’s Mikhail?”
Looking me dead in the eyes, he says, “He’s a meanie, but mommy said I have to call him Father.”
“He hit your momma?” I ask.
He nods his head and I can tell the waterworks are about to start, but he crosses his arms and then tells me, “I’ll punch you if you hurt her.”
Fuck me if he ain’t thinkin’ he’s the size of a truck right now. “Nah boy, I won’t hurt your momma.”
Moving away from the sink, I stick my hand out and start to tell him, “I’m your—”
My words falter though. Looking back at Allie sprawled out on the table and then back to my son, I’m pretty sure now ain’t the time to be springin’ more shit on the kid.
“Who?” Levi asks as he looks at my hand.
“I’m Coy,” I say and take his little hand in mine.
“If you don’t want to hurt mommy, why did you yell at her?” he asks and pulls his hand away from me.
Fuck me, how the hell do I answer these fucking questions?
“Who’s Mikhail?” I ask him.
“He’s my stepfather,” Levi says, and it’s almost formal the way he says it. Like he’s addressing royalty or something.