Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70554 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Honestly?
I hope I don’t.
I hope that my body hasn’t been violated in a new and horrifying way.
Do I want answers?
Yes.
Of course.
Do I want shit to make sense that hasn’t?
Definitely.
But do I want to find out that I’ve been unknowingly bugged with a listening device or tracking device for some unknown amount of time?
No.
I’m not sure I’d ever feel literally safe in my own skin again.
Inside the small building, Nolan and I head for the front desk, leaving The Kid to casually grab a few more photos while pretending to search for a place to sit.
The older woman behind the desk stops smacking on her gum to ask, “Can I help you?”
“Checking in for B,” Mutt quietly informs, “B. Ripley.”
After a brief stretch of clacking sounds, she questions, “For Dr. Garcia at four?”
“Correct.”
“Yeah,” the woman mindlessly retorts prior to reaching for a clipboard. “Fill out this form and we’ll call you when we’re ready.”
He takes the offering leaving me to remain the voiceless bimbo I’m pretending to be.
Towards the back corner, we set up shop next to The Kid, with me settled comfortably between them, both men obviously on guard.
“Anything?” Nolan whispers to him as I retrieve my Mickey Mouse pen from the mini handbag that’s been hanging from my wrist.
“Negative.”
“You send them?”
His nodding is followed by me retrieving the information sheet and whispering, “How honest am I supposed to be on this thing?”
“Completely?” Mutt extends an arm around the back of my chair. “It should be protected information.”
“Should be, doesn’t mean it will be, Mr. Toretto,” The Kid less than gingerly reminds.
“I’m not calling you O’Connor.”
“What about Walker?” our boyfriend pokes back. “I could be a Walker.”
“You could be a Nolan,” he possessively flirts, “which is what you and little Ms. Ripley here will both be when all this is through. Understood?”
Hungry groans thoughtlessly seep out of Kipp, “Yes, Sir.”
Despite The Kid’s moodiness, his horniness hasn’t subsided.
And neither has mine.
And if it weren’t for the whole probably shouldn’t have an appointment full of cum thing, we probably would’ve had a quicky before meeting Nolan at the rental vehicle.
I decide it’s in my safest interest to swap minor information like the month and day of my birthday yet keep the year the same.
Mark my emergency contact information with my boyfriends’ first names but swap their last.
Use Garcia’s office address – that’s listened on his business card – as my home address.
However, in the family history section, I allow myself to actually be honest just in case something else turns up during the examination.
Having checked boxes about both my mother and father leads me to glancing over to Nolan who’s clearly watching the entire room for suspicious movement and proclaiming, “You know I just realized…I don’t know anything about where you come from.”
His attention suddenly shifts to me.
“Him,” my pen points to our partner, “so much. But you?” I can’t stop my head from tilting to one side. “Basically nothing.”
“Well…like us…he’s an only child,” The Kid tries to helpfully inform.
“Not true.” Nolan’s statement is attached to an uncomfortable wiggling in his seat. “I have a sister.”
“You have a sister?!” screeches the male on the other side of me. “Since when?!”
“Since I was born.” His small shrug is clearly indifferent. “She ran away at fifteen. Haven’t seen her since.”
“Have you looked for her?” I cautiously investigate.
“Not in over a decade.”
“Should we look for her?” The pen in my hand is gripped tighter. “When all this is over? Should we have Garcia help find her?”
“He’s already tried.”
Grumbles of disapproval aren’t easy to speak over, yet I do. “What about your parents? Did they look for her? Are they? Are they even alive?”
“No.” Ignoring the coldness in his tone is impossible. “They died forever ago.”
“Accidents? Old age? Medical conditions we should worry you have?”
“Murder suicide.”
“Fuckin’ seriously?!” The Kid croaks.
“What?!” leaves me in a squawking fashion. “When?! How old were you?!”
“Eighteen.”
“How could you not tell me that?!” our boyfriend discreetly barks.
“Wasn’t important.”
“How is that shit not important?!” he hisses again. “You know practically everything about me!”
“Fine.” Nolan calmly retracts. “It. Wasn’t. Relative.”
“Why are you the only one who gets to make that fucking call?!”
“Kid-”
“Why is everything and anything I do and anyone and everyone I know a look under my fucking hood matter while you never hit the pop trunk button.”
“Kid-”
“How can you say shit like you want me to have your last name when it’s clear I don’t even know who the fuck you are?!”
“Kid-”
“Ripley,” calls out a bright pink scrub wearing round woman from the opposite end of the room. “B. Ripley.”
A large, theatrical wave is given to indicate she’s been heard to which she enthusiastically waves me to the back area. I drop my pen into my purse and rise to my feet; however, the instant that I do, my two men attempt to follow forcing me to insist, “No. You two wait out here. It’ll look less suspicious.”