Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68146 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 341(@200wpm)___ 273(@250wpm)___ 227(@300wpm)
I grinned as they left, snatching up a bag of chips on the way.
I pulled six more of them back and tucked them underneath the counter.
I guess I’d underestimated how much a person could eat. These men and women weren’t normal. I’d seen that the first time I’d watched them perform. They were all very muscular and it was obvious that they worked out. A lot.
I should likely assume that they ate like me and not like regular everyday Joes.
“You got anything in there for me, handsome?”
I looked up at the lady standing in front of me, surprised that I hadn’t seen her arrive, and nodded. “Just sign your name there on the checklist for me, and you can have a sandwich and chips.”
She nodded, scribbled her name along one of the last remaining spots, and picked up her food and disappeared just as quietly as she’d come.
I watched her go, feeling a sense of kinship with her.
That woman had killed before. It was the dead eyes. The way you couldn’t quite hide what having a soul, and taking away people that shouldn’t be on this planet, did to a person.
“What are you over there thinking about?”
I stiffened and turned, only to blow out a relieved breath when I saw Simi behind me.
She’d come into the trailer, surprising me.
That was a surprise in and of itself.
I didn’t get surprised.
Ever.
And two women had just done it to me less than a minute apart.
“You scared me,” I murmured when she saw my defensive posture.
I had to work to loosen my shoulders.
“I’m sorry,” she grimaced. “It’s the shoes,” she lifted up a foot behind her, tagging her ankle with her free arm and pulling her leg at an almost sickeningly awkward angle to show me her shoes.
Those ballet flats again.
“Just be careful not to sneak up on me,” I suggested. “Being in the military…” and killing people for them… “I have triggers, and I would really, really appreciate it if you were mindful of them.”
She looked regretful almost immediately. “I will. I’m sorry.”
“It’s nothing you did wrong,” I admitted. “It’s just me.”
She smiled and moved toward the sandwiches. “I’ve been hearing about these all over camp. Do you know how loved you are right now? Everyone is so tired at the end of a show the last thing they want to do is go get food. Or have to wait in line for food. How you served these was perfect.”
I caught one of the sisters walking up, Zip, and saw her eyes zeroed in on the same plate that Simi was reaching for.
It looked like the last one, but I had more on the ledge behind me, waiting.
“You bitch!” Zip cried.
“There’s more, there’s more,” I said to them both. “Zip, take that one. Simi, there are more behind you.”
Zip caught up the plate as if she didn’t quite believe that there were more and nearly ran away with it. She stopped and came back for a package of chips and a drink out of the cooler, then disappeared into the shadows to sit at the same table where Val had earlier.
“Oh, this is good,” Simi exclaimed, her mouth nearly full, behind me.
Keene walked up next, jerked his chin, and reached for a sandwich. “I made you two.”
He groaned, caught up two plates, then grabbed some chips and moved off to the side of the trailer where he could still talk, but he was out of the way.
“I’ve been hearing about these sandwiches all over camp,” Keene repeated Simi’s earlier words. “They’re good. Really good. They’re also not normal sandwiches, which is what I thought I was getting.”
“Well, technically, they are normal sandwiches,” I admitted. “They’re just made with homemade bread and meat that I roasted.”
“This bread is fuckin’ good,” Keene said and I heard Simi agree behind me.
The last few sisters straggled in and got their food, joining Val, leaving Keene, Simi and me alone in the trailer.
I started to clean up as the two siblings finished their food.
“We never got homemade bread when our last cook was here,” Simi started to lick her fingers, and I was ashamed to admit it, but the sight made me hard.
“Most people don’t know how to cook for crowds,” I admitted. “They can be really good cooks, or bakers, or whatever. But anything over five, maybe six plates is foreign to them.”
“Why do you know it?” Keene asked. “I thought you worked in a restaurant?”
“I did,” I confirmed. “But before that, I also cooked for my buddies while I was enlisted. Twenty, thirty, forty people at a time. But I also volunteered at the community center in town, where a lot of veterans hung out during the day, seeking something other than solitude. Even if it was just them observing. There were times I’d have a hundred-plus people sign up for that, and eating boring sandwiches isn’t great. You can make those at home.”