Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 68583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 68583 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 343(@200wpm)___ 274(@250wpm)___ 229(@300wpm)
“I know.” Cakes cringed when he saw Webber’s face. “I need to hire some help. It’s on my list for Monday. I have a few applicants that I’m seriously considering, and a few more that would work in a pinch, but I’m not as confident about.”
“Let me know if you need any help,” Webber murmured as he gestured to the prospect behind the bar to pour him a shot of whiskey.
The prospect bobbled the bottle of whiskey upon seeing our club president in front of him, and my lips twitched.
My date, Melinda, laughed as I poured her a shot of whiskey in a Solo cup after Webber took the glass from the man’s hands and poured his own drink.
“I’m not usually a drinker,” she said. “If I drink this, you’re gonna be peeling me off the floor later.”
I winked at her. “I can do that.”
I didn’t necessarily like Melinda.
There was something about her that just struck me as fake.
But I didn’t have to like her to fuck her.
Let’s be completely honest here.
I had fifteen years to make up for, and I wanted to use my dick, goddammit. My hand had been the only companionship that it had for the longest of times, so I wasn’t going to be too picky on who for a long while.
She took the shot and grimaced.
I didn’t follow suit, knowing that I’d have to drive us home later.
Instead, I pulled a sip of Dr Pepper into my mouth and savored it.
Being in prison, there were a few really big things that I longed for.
Dr Pepper, pussy, and Little Debbie Christmas Tree Cakes were the main things.
That’s why I had a stack of Christmas Tree Cakes that I bought off of eBay in my bedroom at my sister, Keely’s, old loft apartment in the middle of Dallas. And I never left the house without making sure I had a Dr Pepper in my hand.
“Uh, Bird,” I heard called.
I looked up to find Doc there, jerking his chin at me to look in the opposite direction of where I was standing.
I did, looking over my shoulder to find Reign there.
Reign.
Reign and I were friends before I went to prison, but there’d always been something about her that had made me hesitate to go there with her.
A protective instinct that seemed to scream “stay back.”
It’d taken me a while in my teenage years to figure out exactly why, but once I did, I was thankful that my instinct had told me to stay far away from that avenue in our relationship.
I also disliked how I immediately thought “fuck.”
She was mentally ill.
Was it her fault that she acted like she did?
I didn’t know, but I sure the hell wasn’t going to start questioning it.
But I would question what in the hell she was doing here.
“Reign?” I frowned. “What are you doing here?”
She opened her mouth and then closed it.
A hand closed over my arm, and I looked over to find Melinda standing there, a hand on my elbow in a claiming measure.
I pulled away and moved closer to Reign and asked, “What are you doing here?”
She thrust out a box that had a letter taped to the top.
“I wanted to give you this,” she explained. “I’m leaving.”
I frowned. “Leaving where?”
I couldn’t tell you how many times I’d looked up Munchausen’s disorder. According to Google, it was a psychological disorder of some kind where you intentionally made up physical or mental symptoms to gain sympathy from others.
She needed help.
And sometimes she made these grand gestures to bring awareness to her sorry self, likely what she was doing now.
“Home,” she replied softly. “I’m going home.”
The way she said it, as if she looked forward to going ‘home,’ made me hesitate. “Do you need a ride?”
She smiled. “No. Not where I’m going.”
I knew she didn’t have a driver’s license anymore.
Not after she killed a couple, one of whom was pregnant.
Though the baby survived, the mother and the man had not.
It was devastating.
And I knew that Reign felt bad because I could see the pain in her eyes.
I took the box with the note on top, and was surprised by the weight.
The top of the box was folded in on itself, not taped closed, and the top read “FRAGILE.”
“What is it?” I asked, my frown deepening.
She smiled. “Bye, Copper.”
I let her leave, despite the rain that I could hear pouring down outside.
Maybe she had an Uber…
“What is that?” Melinda asked.
I could no longer see the golden-blonde hair anymore, so I set the box gently on the counter in front of me, and Doc crowded close, obviously curious.
I picked up the note and started to rip it open but stopped when a whimper came from inside the box.
“What the fuck?” I asked as I ripped the box open.
Inside was a…sleeping baby.
In a nest of blankets, a tiny little baby was nestled there, dressed in sleeping jammies and a cap.