Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94313 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 472(@200wpm)___ 377(@250wpm)___ 314(@300wpm)
“What’s going on?” I asked quietly, looking out at my cabin. It was unnerving by being so close to him. I’d imagined him so often that it was startling to actually have him there.
“Those guns are wired,” he replied angrily through his teeth, helping me with my jacket.
“I don’t know what that means.”
“It means they’re rigged to explosives.” He stared at me, willing me to understand. “Bombs, Esther. You were livin’ in a place with no electricity and fuckin’ bombs under your livin’ room.”
I wanted to tell him that of course I knew what the word explosives meant, but I couldn’t quite grasp what he was saying. Of course there weren’t explosives under the floor. Why in the world would someone put explosives under the floor? I was pretty sure it had been my dad that put those guns there, because I wasn’t even sure who else knew about the cabin, but even though I wasn’t sure why he’d put them there, I knew he wouldn’t put a bomb in the house where his daughter was living. That was absurd. He was strict, yes, but he wasn’t crazy.
My dad wouldn’t even know where to get explosives. He owned a nursery for goodness’ sake.
Our attention was diverted when the men poured back outside, coming down the steps and toward the vehicles. A couple of them walked a little toward the woods, watching the ground as they pulled phones out of their pockets.
Otto’s dad and the big guy walked toward us. As I watched them, I realized why the big one looked familiar—he looked like a slightly older version of Otto.
“That’s my brother Micky,” Otto said as I continued to watch them. “The loudmouth one is my brother Rumi.”
“Rumi looks like your dad,” I mumbled dumbly. “You don’t.”
“Got his eyes. Not the color—the shape,” Otto replied distractedly as they reached us.
“Callin’ in reinforcements,” Otto’s dad said. He looked at me and held out his hand. “I’m Tommy.”
“Esther,” I replied automatically, shaking his hand. Politeness had been ingrained in me since I was born.
“Nice to meet you, sweetheart.” He smiled, and I realized that Otto had also gotten that from his dad. “Sorry we’re meetin’ like this.”
“I don’t understand what’s going on,” I said honestly. The older man somehow put me at ease while his son—whom I’d actually been wishing for—didn’t.
“Well,” Tommy said with a sigh. “Those crates are wired so that if we tried to get down there or take any of ’em, they’d blow the fuck up.”
“Are you sure?” I asked dubiously.
“Pretty fuckin’ sure,” Otto’s brother Micky mumbled.
“We’ve got someone comin’ out that has some experience with this shit,” Tommy said with a nod. “He’ll take care of it.”
I stared at the cabin. “And then it’ll be safe to go back inside?” I asked, thinking of all the food I had inside. The stacks of firewood I’d brought in that morning. The phone that I’d left on the table like an idiot.
“Should be,” Tommy confirmed.
“Okay, good.” I murmured, not really sure what to say. “It’s cold out here.”
“I’ll turn on the truck,” Otto replied quickly, walking away so he could climb in the driver’s side.
“Can’t believe you’ve been livin’ in there,” Mick said, looking over at me.
“You get used to it,” I replied with a shrug, my cheeks burning. “It’s really not so bad. Whoever built it did a good job.”
“You—”
Whatever he’d been about to say was cut off as the other older guy came stomping toward us.
“Mouth and one of his guys are on the way.”
“Fuck,” Tommy said, shaking his head. “I thought he and Ceecee had headed south already.”
“Tomorrow,” the older man replied.
“Good timin’.”
“I’m Will,” the older guy said to me. “That bozo’s uncle.”
I looked between Tommy and Will suddenly understanding the weird genetics they had going on in their family. Will was as big as Micky and Otto, while his dad and brother Rumi were a bit shorter and about half as wide. Very strange.
“He took all the food when we were kids,” Tommy joked, correctly interpreting my look.
“Fuck you,” Will replied with a chuckle.
I’d gone to public school and had probably heard every swear word there was, but their casual use of them was a little disconcerting. I ignored it. The truck was running with the heater going full blast, but it was still a little chilly with my door open. Zipping the front of my jacket all the way to my chin, I pulled the hood up, too.
“Someone’s been out here, choppin’ wood,” Otto’s brother Rumi said with a scowl, walking toward us.
Timidly, I raised my hand. “Uh, that was me.”
Rumi did a double take. “Say what?”
“I chopped the wood,” I clarified, nodding toward the side of the cabin. “Well, most of it. There’s about three rows at the bottom that were here when I moved in.”