Total pages in book: 150
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 142818 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 714(@200wpm)___ 571(@250wpm)___ 476(@300wpm)
But it wasn’t Elden, it was my mother. I wasn’t disappointed, or at least I shouldn’t have been. I liked talking to my mother. She was animated, passionate about her life. She was funny... I hadn’t known that my mother was funny. Hadn’t known my mother was not a Stepford robot. I was getting to know her as a complete person. Beyond that, she was due soon. Her life was blooming.
“Mom,” I greeted warmly. “How are you? Is Swiss still sitting at the bar of the restaurant, glaring at everyone so they don’t come in and make you cook?”
My stepfather was somewhat protective over my mom. Now that she was pregnant, it was an entirely new level. Mom was determined to work in the kitchen of the restaurant right up until her due date. Swiss was determined to make sure that there were no patrons in the restaurant for her to cook for.
I almost spoke again to see if she was still on the line when she didn’t respond for several long moments.
“Sweetie, I think you should come home,” my mother said in a gentle tone that chilled my blood. One I’d only heard once before. When she was preparing to tell me my father was an abusive piece of shit who almost killed her. It was a tone used before bad news. Before earth shattering news.
My back straightened. “What happened? Is it the baby? Did Swiss get into an accident?” My mind ran through all the possible terrible things that could’ve happened, which were many when your stepfather was a member of an outlaw motorcycle club who likely broke the law and put himself in danger on a daily basis.
But I’d never worried about such things until that very moment, until I was confronted with the perils of that life encompassed in my mother’s tone.
I’d never worried, not once, because I’d seen the way Swiss looked at my mother. With a love that seemed to soften the air around her. But also with a ferocity that made me believe that he would defeat anything and anyone who dared try to take him from the things he loved.
It hit me just then that I’d truly believed my stepfather could and would defeat death … law enforcement, natural disasters and everything in between.
But no one, not even someone as badass as Swiss, was immune to reality.
My body started to vibrate with fear that I’d never experienced in my life. I felt as if I’d been walking happily, and this phone call had hurtled me off a cliff I didn’t even know was right beside me all along.
“No, we’re all fine, Violet,” Mom’s words were warped, as though she spoke from underwater, muffled and low.
It took me a second to process them.
“You’re fine,” I repeated.
“Yes,” she said firmly. But that gentle, ominous edge to her voice lingered.
My mind ran quickly through all the possibilities, stuttering on gray eyes and the man they belonged to.
“Is El—everyone at the club okay?” I demanded to know, an edge of panic leaking from my heart into my tone. My mother was still unaware of any connection I had to the biker old enough to be my father. Yet in the midst of my panic, I was still protecting that secret.
“Everyone at the club is fine,” Mom reassured me.
I let out a long breath, my limbs still taut.
“It’s your father, honey,” she sighed.
My heart thumped against my chest. My fingertips numb. “Did he hurt you again?”
Fire crawled up my throat.
“No!” she yelled through the phone. “I’m really not good at this,” she muttered. “He was found this morning… He’s gone, honey.”
I gasped at the news, processing it. Gone. A euphemism for death, I deduced.
Dead.
I chewed at my lip.
My father was dead.
My breathing returned to normal soon after my heartbeat did. My limbs relaxed.
“Violet?” Mom’s voice was saturated in concern and louder than normal. I got the impression it was not the first time she’d said it, trying to get my attention.
“I’m getting on a plane,” she declared. “I’m coming to get you.”
My body jerked. “Mom, you are not getting on a plane. You’re about to give birth to your baby.”
“I have two babies,” she corrected. “And one of them just lost her father.”
Lost. Like I wanted to find him in the first place. Like he was something precious to me.
Maybe he had been.
Or maybe the idea of him was.
“He wasn’t my father,” I stated bluntly, my voice colder than I’d intended.
“Sweetie… Yes, he was,” Mom’s voice was thick with hurt and grief. Not for herself, surely. My father had beat her for years, tortured her and almost killed her. My mother was a good person with a great heart, but even she would not be grieving that man.
The hurt was for me.
“No,” I told her, staring at myself in the mirror of my room. My cheekbones were high, sharper than normal because I was overloaded on classes that were getting harder and harder. I was existing on processed snacks and black coffee. Hence the dark circles under my eyes which, contrasting against my ivory skin, made them seem an off purple hue, similar to my irises.