Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 61149 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 306(@200wpm)___ 245(@250wpm)___ 204(@300wpm)
“He knew what he wanted, what he just had to have, and I got it for him, like a good mommy should.” An undeniably vindictive grin is given alongside her face resting on the bars. “Which is something you’ll never get the chance to be.”
Fury and resentment and resolve obliterate the lingering fear forcing me to swallow my sadness.
Postpone processing the new grief.
“I wouldn’t get that close to me, Beverly,” I viciously warn on my own step forward. “That’s how your precious offspring lost a fucking eye.”
Chapter 21
Nolan
I roll my eyes in irritation yet still answer the call on a heavy sigh, “What?”
Nothing.
Not a word.
Not a cough.
Not even a faint giggle.
“What?” escapes in an even more irked tone than before.
Still silence.
Forfuckssake, really?
Right now?
She wants to play stupid games, where the prize is me suffering from a stress induced stroke because the last shit I need at this very fucking minute is my self-absorbed ex on my goddamn phone distracting me from the literal ticking clock we’re up against?
Fuck that.
And fuck her.
I prepare to hang up the phone when a sudden rustling noise is heard.
An ass dial?
She ass dialed me?
How the fuck is that even possible in this day and age?
You mean to tell me smartphones ain’t smarter than that by now?
Yet again, I move to end the call only to beat to it by an unfortunately loud crunch.
What the fuck was that?
“Ace?” Garcia cautiously calls out from his position across the room. “You want coffee or not? You’re holding up the line.”
“There’s no fuckin’ line.” Our eyes briefly meet. “You’re in my kitchen, asshole, not that piece of shit coffee joint you worship at.”
“Me, dick breath,” he lightly laughs. “I’m the fucking line.”
Amusement threatens to be seen in my glare.
“Yes or no?”
There isn’t time to answer courtesy of the unhappy huffs attached to Kid who’s attempting to get off the couch beside me. “I can ma-”
“Don’t even,” is instantly thrown in his direction over my shoulder.
“But-”
“Don’t argue.”
Like the moody teen being slightly incapacitated is turning him into, he slams his back against the couch cushion, an action that results in a low, misery-filled moan, “Ou…”
“Deserved,” mirthfully leaves me prior to replying to my other best friend. “And yeah. I’ll take a cup.”
More displeased grumbles escape my fiancé prompting Garcia to good naturedly chuckle, “Relax, Woods. It’s just a cup of brew, not a marriage proposal.”
Kid’s frame sulking further into the couch is followed by him calling out, “Two spoonfuls of sugar.”
“For yours or his?”
“His.” He does his best to adjust himself in his seat. “Just ‘cause I can’t physically make it, doesn’t mean I can’t make sure that it’s done right.” My cellphone free hand lands lovingly on his thigh. “And no coffee for me.” His fingers lovingly land on top of mine. “Not thirsty.”
“You should still be hydrating,” scolds our houseguest. “Helps the healing process.”
Post mocking him under his breath, Kid investigates the call that just came in. “Who was that?”
“Uh…” Confusion returns to the device I’m still clutching. “Jolene.”
“Our fiancée goes fucking missing, and your ex-girlfriend magically decides to call?” He lets his brows dart down. “That feels sus’.”
“Despite, Goof Trope’s inability over there to complete the word,” Garcia pokes during his crossing over with two mugs, “I’m inclined to agree. How often do you two have contact?”
“More often than I fuckin’ care for.”
He hands me mine after I’ve transferred my phone to the coffee table. “How often does she reach out via call or text?”
“Been awhile…” One shoulder mindlessly bounces. “Not even real sure the last time she did.”
“Hm.” His ass drops down onto the arm of the couch. “What’d she say?”
“She didn’t.”
Garcia’s head slowly tilts in a silent request for more information.
“There was jus’ some crackles and then a crunch.”
“She ass dial you?”
“Maybe?” Gripping the mug tighter occurs at the same time I shake my head. “But that don’t feel right.”
“You think maybe she knows something about Bunny?” Kid’s question has me redirecting my gaze to him. “You think maybe she heard or saw something?”
The set of questions gets similar thoughts stirring in my own mind.
Jolene is a piece of work but an accomplice to shit like kidnapping?
Not so much.
It’d be like a billionaire test driving a KIA.
Highly unlikely.
“Chad,” Kid abruptly tosses out, steering my focus back to him. “Chad McAllen.”
“The shitty alias McAdams was using to get information about this town?” Garcia recalls. “Zero burned that shit back with the bounty hunters.”
“Right, but Jolene was his in,” Kid gradually continues, ideas doing their best not to stall, “so what if…maybe…she accidentally became his parents in too? What if she heard about Bunny’s disappearance and thinks she knows something? Or remembers something? Or someone? Or-”
“Saw someone,” I thoughtlessly mutter, attention oscillating between the two of them. “According to English, she had no free rooms at her B&B. And based on the credit card information, Zero pulled, he confirmed that neither the McAdams nor security team were staying there. But they have to be staying somewhere. Post said they’d been in town for a couple of days lookin’ into her son’s disappearance, so where was the somewhere? Where are they stayin’? Even if they rented an RV or a glamper, they’d still have to park that shit somewhere, and you can’t just park that shit anywhere around town without people talkin’ or noticin’ unless-”