Total pages in book: 53
Estimated words: 48632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48632 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 243(@200wpm)___ 195(@250wpm)___ 162(@300wpm)
I stop at the table near the front door, looking at the plethora of frames she has scattered around. I'm tempted to take more than one, but I don't have enough room. I grab the one I love the most. Mom and I are standing beneath a tree at a park, in clothes that had seen better days, dirt smudged on my cheek, and a skinned knee. It's the smiles on our faces that makes me love it the most. Money may have been nonexistent, the world could be set on fire, but the way Mom and I are looking at each other, nothing mattered.
"I love you, Mom," I say to the picture, wiping the stray tears that slide down my cheeks before leaving a home where I would become a piece of meat. I refuse to go down without a fight.
1
LETTY
Present Day
"Think, Letty, think." I'm sitting on the floor of Matthew's kitchen, taking a much-needed break after the morning and afternoon I've had. My rent is going up again, for the second time in under a year. It feels like highway robbery, especially considering I'm there the least, barely use any electricity or water, and I don't even touch the Internet for my phone or streaming services. I also have the smallest room, a concession I made for two reasons: I'm only there to shower, sleep, and eat, plus my portion of the bills is supposed to be cheaper.
Now I'm plagued with trying to figure out what to do: stay or leave. I've saved a lot of cash over the course of a year, working two, sometimes three jobs at a time. I've also learned the best places to hide my cash—not in the same place and not all of it in said place. In the first apartment I shared with another group, my roommates thought it was okay to barge into my room when I wasn't there, pilfer through my things, and when I noticed a hundred dollars was missing, they didn't like it when I confronted them. They also fought dirty. Three ganging up on me with their cattiness turned into yelling, one of them slapping my face and the other pulling my hair.
The neighbors heard what was going on, cops were called, and I decided to stay quiet until the others said their piece. Then I made the best decision for myself. Since I didn't fight back, only defending myself with my arms covering my face, I told the officers I'd leave. I packed the few things I owned, ignored the money that was stolen, and asked an officer to stay with me until I'd left. Sleeping in my car for a couple of weeks sucked, but it was worth it in the long run.
I should have known things were going too well for too long without any problems on the horizon. I'm mentally calculating the cash I have stashed. Next month would have been my time to hire a private investigator to see if my stepfather is still looking for me. Lately, I've felt like the number of times I've had to look over my shoulder has been on another level. Then again, we're creeping up on the anniversary of when I broke free from everything Joshua Carpenter, so maybe it's all in my head.
I look at the clock, realizing the time, and stop having a pity party for myself. I'll swallow the extra chunk of change for rent, pick up a few extra shifts where I can. Hopefully, this will be the last rate increase, or I really will be forced to live out of my car. One day, I'd like to finish my teaching degree, after I figure out if Joshua and his bookies are still looking for me. I'm pretty sure it's safe to assume that even if the bad guys took care of Joshua in the form of cement shoes, they wouldn't have gotten any money out of him, and they'd still come after me in order to pay his debt. At least in the books, they don't just forgive and forget. Unless they're the hero still, sometimes they steal the heroine, force her into marriage, or make them fall in love with them.
A shiver rolls through me at the thought. Not a single one of the men I saw in my once home gave me the warm and fuzzies. It's more along the lines of vomit-inducing at the mere thought of one of them so much as touching me.
The clock on the oven flashes from one minute to the next, reminding me yet again that break time is over. I skipped lunch, partly because with this gig, I'm in charge of making dinner three times a week, and with that comes a meal for myself as well. At first, I'd balked at the idea, worry setting into my stomach when the client I worked for, Matthew Carlisle, asked if I'd made sure to eat. I replied no, that it wasn't part of my job description, and it would be the same thing as stealing. He explained to me that it came with my contract, but I still didn't take any that night, waiting until I'd received clarification from my boss. The next day, I'd been pulled into the office, where I for sure thought I'd be canned, and she explained this is what she expects when negotiating contracts with clients.