Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 91900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91900 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 460(@200wpm)___ 368(@250wpm)___ 306(@300wpm)
Yay.
She had to start practicing her surprised and happy face.
More lies.
Starting at the produce section, she looked at the abundance of colors. Onions, eggplant, zucchini, tomato, so many varieties to choose from. Was there a time she knew what she was doing? Did she miraculously pick the right kind of fruit and veg or did she suck at this?
Picking up a sack of onions, she placed it in her cart. Rather than think about what it was she liked or didn’t like, she decided the best way to survive was to stick to his trusted list.
She walked through each section, marking off each item she placed into the cart. By the time she got to the canned items, she was exhausted. She’d been stopped by five people so far, all of whom she had no idea who they were but they knew her. They wanted conversations and one of her favorite questions: do you remember when…? Tact was clearly not on everyone’s minds, seeing as she didn’t remember jack shit.
Her anger was coming out and knowing all new levels. How the fuck would she be able to remember anything if she didn’t even know her name? The only reason she knew her name was Robin was because people told her. There was no magical person around to give her memories though.
By the time she had finished at the checkout, she had a headache and wanted nothing more than to lie down. This had already been too tiring for her.
Pushing the cart outside, she pulled out her cell phone, ready to dial her dad or Preacher to come and pick her up.
“It’s okay, sweet girl.”
She turned toward the voice to see a large man. His hair was short and his beard thick and full. He was struggling with a baby.
Leaving her cart, she rushed to his side, holding the cart. “Here, let me help.”
“Thank you,” the man said.
She offered him a smile. “She’s a wriggler.”
The baby in his arms wasn’t happy.
“Tell me about it. It’s okay, sweetheart.” He put the baby in the cart.
“How old is she?”
“Just over one now. She can hold her head and sit up,” he said.
“She’s beautiful.”
“Her mother tells her that as much as she can.”
“What’s her name?” Robin asked.
“Bethany.”
“Beautiful name. Anyway, I better let you get back to your shopping.”
“Thank you so much for your help.” He held out his hand and his shirt rode up. She got a look at his ink and there was something about him.
“Do I know you?”
There was a pause.
“No, we don’t know each other.”
“Oh, right. Sorry.” She shook his head. “Forgive me. I’m not usually, you know, so … weird.”
“It’s fine, Robin,” he said.
“I’ll let you get back to your shopping.” She held up her cell phone and stepped away. She was just about to call Preacher when he suddenly pulled up into the spot. She looked behind her to say goodbye to the man she’d helped but he must have already gone inside. There was no sign of him.
“Did you enjoy shopping?” Preacher asked.
“No, but I got everything on the list.” Preacher returned the cart as she climbed into the front seat. Just as she did her seatbelt, she frowned.
The man had called her Robin.
If he didn’t know her, how did he know her name?
“You okay?” Preacher asked.
“Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” They pulled away from the supermarket, and she rubbed at her temple.
“I’m going to have to ask again if you don’t start talking.”
“I’ve got a headache. It’s nothing. I got tired with everyone trying to jog my memory.”
“Sorry.”
“It’s fine.” She waved her hand in the air, not really caring about the supermarket anymore. No, her thoughts were on the man with the young girl. Bethany. “Slaves to the Beast.”
Preacher jerked the car to a stop. People went past, pressing on their horns.
“Rather rude.”
“What did you say?” he asked.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
“Did you remember something?”
“No.”
“You must have remembered something.”
“Why?”
“Slaves to the Beast,” he said.
“What about it?”
“How do you know the name?”
“It was on a guy’s arm. He had it inked near his wrist, why?”
“Where?”
“Preacher, you’re scaring me.”
“Slaves of the Beast is run by Reaper. The guy who took you. You spoke to him. Where?”
“Back at the supermarket.” Before she had even finished, he spun the car around and she cried out. “Preacher, please, what is going on? I asked him if he knew me and he said no. Why would he lie?”
“Because you’re here with me. That’s fucking why.” He had his cell phone out and she heard Bear answer. “Reaper’s here. I need backup. Get the boys.”
“Preacher, I really don’t think this is necessary.”
“I’m not asking your fucking permission.”
They pulled up outside of the supermarket. Preacher unbuckled his seatbelt and she grabbed his arms. “Don’t do this.”
“I’m going in there and taking care of the son of a bitch who thought he could have you.”