Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112736 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 564(@200wpm)___ 451(@250wpm)___ 376(@300wpm)
“He means your dad, Levi,” Poster Boy calls out.
“Yeah,” Hammy says and nods his head quickly up and down, looking a little nervous himself. “Your dad, the Pres.”
Levi blinks and seems to digest the information. “Oh.” Then, ever curious, he asks, “The Pres? What’s that mean?”
Hammy looks like he wants to sigh with relief as he pulls his hand back. “It means he’s my boss. The President of the motorcycle club I’m prospectin’ into.”
Levi’s face lights up. “My dad is a president?”
“Yup,” Hammy grins and bobs his head.
“And you guys have a club of motorcycles?” Levi asks, his voice raising with excitement.
“You betcha,” Hammy says and walks around the couch to sit down as Levi starts to hurl question after question at him.
Standing near the couch, I listen in on the conversation, interested myself and a little amused as Hammy struggles to provide answers that are appropriate for a child.
When Levi finally gets bored with the topic and turns his attention back to the TV, talking excitedly about his cartoon, I tune them out. After watching the two of them, I’ve come to the conclusion that Hammy seems harmless enough and start focusing on trying to figure out a way to get us out of this house.
I can see Steve through the sliding glass doors leading to the backyard. He’s sitting in a chair on the porch, looking down at his phone and smoking a cigarette.
He seems so engrossed in his phone, I doubt he’d notice if Levi and I left.
The other two on the other hand…
Hammy is talking to Levi, there’s no help for that, but I’m pretty sure he could be easily tricked into letting his guard down.
Poster Boy, though… Ugh. The entire time I’ve been standing here I’ve felt his gaze on me.
I cast a quick glance over my shoulder, and just as I suspected, he’s leaning against the wall near the front the door, arms crossed over his chest, watching me.
Shit.
How am I going to trick him?
A dozen possibilities filter through my brain, but I end up dismissing them one after another.
A fire is too risky.
And accidentally injuring myself seems pointless.
I’ve already been beaten and terrorized and they haven’t taken me to a doctor or hospital yet. The last thing I want is to end up in the system anyway.
No, I know nothing I’ve thought of so far is going to work. I’m just going to have to wait for an opportunity to present itself.
Hoping some caffeine will fuel my brain, I shuffle over to the kitchen. As expected, Poster Boy follows after me. I sense his presence behind me as soon as I grab a mug and fill it up with coffee.
Trying to ignore him so I can focus, I grab the folded-up copy of the Courier-Journal Coy left on the counter and carry it over to the table. Sitting down, I snap it open and pretend to read it while I’m really brainstorming my escape.
Having Poster Boy’s eyes on me though makes it really hard to concentrate.
I flip to the second page of the paper and sneak a peek up at him.
His gaze meets mine, hard and cold, and I quickly glance down.
I wish he would just go to the bathroom or something…
Fuck, if only I had some laxatives. I bet that would do the trick.
Sighing, I lift my mug to my lips and take a sip when he suddenly says, “You know, the way you keep lookin’ at me is kinda creepy…”
I nearly choke on my coffee.
The way I’m looking at him is creepy?!
“Excuse me?” I sputter and cough.
Taking my response as an invitation to join me, he walks up to the table, grabs a chair and flips it around. Sitting down and straddling the chair, he rests his arms on the back.
“Yeah,” he drawls out and frowns. “It’s fuckin’ creepy. You keep lookin’ at me like you don’t know me.”
I cough a little more to get the rest of the coffee out of my lungs before I say, “That’s because I don’t know you."
He leans forward, eyes narrowing with disbelief. “Seriously?”
I narrow my eyes right back him, finding his question highly annoying.
How the hell would I know him?
“Seriously,” I say and look back down at the paper, done with this conversation.
“Wow,” he says, surprised, and lets out a low whistle between his teeth. “I don’t know whether to be insulted or not.”
Not caring one bit, I ignore him and flip to the next page.
The kitchen is blissfully quiet for a few moments, and even though I can still feel his eyes on me, my annoyance begins to die back down.
Then he asks, “You really don’t remember me, huh? The names Poster Boy or Luke don’t ring a bell?”
I clench my teeth together, the annoyance rising back up, and flip through to the next page, continuing to ignore him.