Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
My heart races as I start unloading the groceries onto the conveyor belt. I would normally do self-check, but I figure it would be easier to have a cashier take things off if I need to remove items than it would be to have to call an attendant.
I greet her the same way I normally would, but I can hear the edge of fear in my voice.
Life isn’t supposed to be this hard.
I stare at the total, the threat of tears once again a real thing. I could easily take a few things off but I asked the boys this morning if they wanted anything from the store, and each of them gave me a small list. The thought of going home without those things right now breaks my heart.
Instead of pulling out my bank debit card, I pull out my credit card and swipe it. My pulse rages when it takes a few seconds longer than normal for it to be approved. It would be just my luck for this not to work.
The cash register door pops open at the same time I hear the receipt being printed.
I breathe a sigh of relief when the cashier hands me the printed paper.
“Thank you,” I tell her, my graciousness having to do with more than just her service today.
After pulling my bags from the rotating rack and placing them in the shopping cart, I head toward the exit, only to see Amber standing to the side having a conversation with Lucy Bennett, another gossip from high school.
Neither one stops talking, nor do they look away from me as I walk toward the exit. I know without a doubt they’re talking about Janet. I also don’t doubt they will also continue to have such conversations, altering the interaction I had with Amber to fit her narrative. It won’t stop until something else worthy of their gossip comes along.
Some days I wish I could just pack everything I own and leave this damn town.
Chapter 7
Stormy
“Hello, Mr. Chilton,” the nice woman behind the desk says with a smile as I climb off the elevator. “Mr. Black has been expecting you.”
She hits a few keys on her keyboard before standing.
“I’m Pam.”
“Nice to meet you, Pam.”
“Hey,” a man says, approaching with his hand out. “Deacon Black.”
“Vincent Chilton, but please call me Stormy.”
I’m back in St. Louis, but before I seek out Mila and the boys, I need a little more information. I want to know what I’m facing. I probably should’ve done this while I was in town for the funeral, but it didn’t even cross my mind.
“Wren’s office is this way,” he says, walking deeper into the office. “If there is information to be found, he’s the guy that will be able to do it. I hope you don’t mind but I already forwarded the information Kincaid sent so he could get an early start on it.”
“That’s awesome. I appreciate all your help.”
“Ignacio, Finn, and Gaige,” he says, pointing to the three men sitting on the sofas in what appears to be some sort of breakroom.
They each lift a hand at me, and I do the same. I know Cerberus has worked with these men on more than one occasion, but we haven’t had a mission that has overlapped since I joined. I know there will be time to get to know them better at a later date, but right now, I have one single focus.
Deacon wraps his knuckles on a closed office door before turning the doorknob and pushing it open.
“Is he here to steal my girl!”
I jerk my head in the direction of the voice, a small smile playing on my lips when I see the setup the birds have.
“I’m not yours!” another bird squawks. “Quit spreading rumors!”
The one objecting happens to be standing right beside the other, so I’m not at all convinced that they dislike each other.
“That’s Puff Daddy,” the guy sitting at the desk says. “And Evie. I’m Wren.”
He holds his hand out, and I shake it.
“Looks like you have your hands full,” I say, giving the birds another glance.
“Quit looking at her!” Puff Daddy demands. “Want me to pluck your eyes from their fucking sockets?”
“Puff,” Wren says, a warning in his tone. “Do you want to end up in the cage?”
The bird starts making noises, pacing back and forth. Evie, clearly annoyed with being bumped into every time he spins to pace in the opposite direction, hops up on a different roost.
“Wren,” Deacon snaps. “These fucking birds.”
Wren nods, but the action looks rote, as if his boss warns him daily and it goes in one ear and out the other.
“I have bad news,” Wren says. “Take a seat.”
As much as I feel the need to stand, I decide it would be rude to refuse his offer. He sighs the second my ass is in the seat.