Total pages in book: 83
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75633 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“I missed you, honeybee! Merry Christmas.” Red looks across my little girl's shoulder. I stand without saying a word, angrily grabbing the cat food under the counter. Whiskey's bowl overflows a little as I dump a heaping portion in his dish. “Are you hungry? I'd love to fix you something to eat, once I've got the go ahead from your daddy.”
I clip the cat food bag and throw it back where it belongs, then stand, taking a good, hard look at the scene in front of me. It's as happy as this house will ever be while Red's brother is still alive.
Her, with her big green eyes and cinnamon hair, waiting with baited breath for my final answer.
Mia in her arms, sweet and oblivious as ever. She chews her thumb, probably trying to decipher why I look so pissed off and confused this early in the morning.
The cat crunches loudly in the corner. My patience is gone.
“Make sure she gets her vegetables if you're doing omelets today, please. I have to get to work.” It comes out like sticky blood from a wound that's slow to close. I grab my coat off the empty chair before I head for the door. Only slow down to give Mia's tiny hand a squeeze with my fingers, whispering a few last bitter words. “Be good for Sadie today. I think she's brought you presents.”
I can't fucking believe I gave in.
I'm oily, scratched, and frustrated from having my hands up an old industrial drill press all morning. It's a quick job for a pig farmer who does carpentry in his off season.
I'm up to my knees in more business, too. Another Harley plus a couple old trucks due later this week. I should have said fuck no before I buried myself too deep.
I'm not rich, but it's not like I'm hurting for money with a paid off place and plenty in the bank. I worked my balls off the first few years after Mia was born.
Taking on these odd jobs were part of the reason I second guessed. Would've had an easier time saying no to the mess in my kitchen if there wasn't so much else happening.
Red didn't convince me. I try to tell myself that's true over and over again. Even after all her heart, her pleas, her logic, I was ready to turn her out like the stone cold bastard I think I am.
It was Mia who threw the wrench into everything.
I couldn't snuff out the light in my little girl's eyes, the happy stars I'm afraid are at risk of dying the older she gets, the more she experiences this fucked up world. I can't shield her forever, but for a few more weeks, trying this nanny thing against my better instincts?
Maybe.
And maybe I can also make Little Red Riding Hell useful in other ways.
Despite the stalker files sitting in my ammo box, I don't have all the intel I should on my target. Red can help fill in the blanks. Tell me what time of day her brother eats, breathes, and shits. Expose an opportunity I wouldn't see otherwise to whack him, and pray to sweet chaos I get away clean.
I'll worry about the evil, ass biting karma later. That's how this works.
If I'm keeping her on for the next few weeks as my nanny, clearing my books to kill this asshole who murdered my men, then I'll use her to help me do it. Maybe the corrosive guilt in my bones will keep my greedy dick under control, too.
That part, I'm sure I'll reign in. There's too many new black marks on my soul to worry how I'll handle it tonight when she's here. Sleeping under the same roof, a lonely wall away from the pent-up urges blazing in my blood.
They're there, screaming, even now. They're blind, deaf, and dumb to violence, revenge, and intrigue. They just want to sort out the insane tension between us in a primal language I swore off since a one night stand left lifelong consequences.
Fuck urges. I can't let it get to me again.
I can't, and I won't.
Because if I step on the final landmine that lands us in the same bed, this house of cards collapses.
No itch is worth making a complicated situation fatal, no matter how fucking good it'd feel to scratch.
5
Happy New Year (Sadie)
“Finish line, I win!” Mia tap dances her little blue plastic game piece across the board, flying past mine.
“Perfect score, lucky girl. Guess I owe you a treat?” My fingers ruffle her hair before she's standing up and screaming.
Honestly, she deserves it. I think she knows numbers better than most kids her age, and she's given me a crash course in children. Before I started this gig, I wasn't sure I'd enjoy it.
Now, I can't imagine doing anything else with my time.