Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 68698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68698 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 275(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
He gently placed it on the ground, his eyes full of fear, as he said, “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re not sorry,” I snapped. “Who are you?”
“I know him,” Folsom’s voice came from the bag of clothes that I was holding. “Marshall Evers. He’s got a rap sheet a mile long, the most significant being armed robbery. I’ve already sent his images to the police.”
Folsom was on task, that was for sure.
“Thank you,” Morrigan croaked.
“Please leave now,” I said. “Before I do something that’ll get me sent back to prison.”
The man ran, practically bowling Morrigan over as he went.
I cursed under my breath, pissed as hell for a whole assortment of reasons, most notably the fact that Morrigan shouldn’t be in this hell hole at all.
“Why in the fuck do you live here?” I growled.
“She gets free rent here for life because she owns the complex,” Folsom answered for me, this time her voice coming from my own pocket.
I frowned hard. “What?”
“She owns the complex,” Folsom answered. “But don’t tell anyone. Morrigan doesn’t want anyone to know. But she practically rents all of these spaces out for free for government section-eight housing. She helps out a lot of single mothers. She is a miracle worker. However, a lot of the single mothers come with a whole lot of problems. Like shady exes. Bad decisions on their kids’ parts when Mom leaves for work. Stuff like that. Go inside. The weirdo in 3B is about to come out.”
I’d never seen Morrigan move so fast before in my life.
I winced as I saw her all but slam the door behind her in her haste to get inside.
When I saw the “weirdo” in 3B pop his head out, I narrowed my eyes at the fucker.
He was a tall, lanky dude. Thirty-year-old white male with beady little eyes and hair that was practically nonexistent in a six-inch circle on the top of his head. He had a wifebeater on that was likely, at one point in time, white. But now it was dingy yellow in color, had a sweat stain at both armpits, and had a suspicious-looking brown stain down at the bottom of the shirt that I hoped wasn’t what I thought it was.
“Can I help you?” I growled.
The beady-eyed man blinked. “Who are you?”
“Morrigan’s man,” I said. “You?”
His mouth fell open in denial. “Morrigan doesn’t date.”
I looked at the man that could quite literally be the most disgusting person I’d ever met, and I’d met a whole lot of gross ones in prison, and said, “Morrigan doesn’t date people that are harassing her, no. But I don’t harass her. I love her.”
The man winced.
“Please be sure to leave her alone from now on, or I’ll have to take care of it,” I growled.
Beady-Eyed Man nodded once, swallowed hard, and then closed the door.
I reached for Morrigan’s door, then grinned wide when I felt the locked handle.
“Let’s see,” I said, looking at the numeric keypad above the lock. “If I were Morrigan, what code would I use?”
I tried her birthday, her favorite month and day—Halloween—then what used to, once upon a time, be her telephone code.
All three denied me access.
Then, on a whim, I used my own birthday.
The keypad went green, and I felt a wave of happiness inside of me.
Pushing through the door, I was surprised to see that the apartment’s interior definitely didn’t match the exterior.
“Wow,” I said as I took a look around.
The whole entire apartment had been revamped. New floors. New paint, trim and walls. New furniture. It looked like I’d stepped right into the middle of a magazine display.
“I combined two apartments,” she rasped. “How’d you get in?”
I grinned at the woman that had a cold bottle of water to her throat, staring at me from where she was leaning against the countertop.
A brand-new, beautiful quartz countertop that was black with ice-blue chips in it.
“Your favorite color,” I said as I ran my hand over the smooth surface.
She smiled a sweet smile that reminded me of the ones that she’d grace me with a long time ago.
“I don’t know if you still like coffee,” I said, “but I’d almost bet that it’d feel way better than cold.”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “I was hoping it’d help with the tightness.”
I felt my belly clench.
But before I could say “I’m so fuckin’ sorry I wasn’t there” to her, my phone rang.
Unknown: I need help. ASAP. Bring a change of clothes for Morrigan and get to the clinic quick.
I frowned, but before I could say, “Who is this?” the next text popped up.
Unknown: -Folsom
“Folsom just texted and said that she needs help. ASAP,” I said. “She said to pack a change of clothes and get there to help her.”
Morrigan sighed, abandoned her water bottle, then went into her bedroom and closed the door.
She came back out fully dressed in a pair of sweatpants, a black t-shirt that looked like it was practically painted on, and black Converse.