Total pages in book: 168
Estimated words: 169013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 169013 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 845(@200wpm)___ 676(@250wpm)___ 563(@300wpm)
“And you know Trevan isn’t about to stand for backtalk, especially on his birthday.” Elena’s inflection was pure cheek.
Meems laughed a chortling, wry sound. “Pyke was messing with the wrong man, that’s for sure. You’d think he’d have a better head on him if he wants to be a Crow. He has no sense.”
“Maybe Trevan will just have to knock it into him.” That time it was giggles and awe.
I crept closer, keeping my footsteps quiet. Not because I wanted to eavesdrop but because I was worried I was interrupting.
I peered through the opening.
Meems, which apparently meant ‘Grandma’ in Mercer, was on the other side of a long counter that segmented a small dining room from the cooking area.
Kai was on this side of it, on the floor playing with blocks with his blue blanket beneath him, babbling to himself.
“And I bet you’d fight for a front-row seat.” Meems cast an appraising glance over at Elena who was pulling a salad from the fridge. “Though I imagine you’d fight for a front-row seat of anything that man does.”
If Silas thought his Crows’s talons were crimson, he should have seen Elena’s face.
She hurried to set the salad onto the counter next to the fridge, then ducked back inside, rummaging around like she was looking for the meaning of life.
When she edged back out with a bottle of ketchup, she hiked an innocent shoulder. “Trevan is one of my closest friends. Of course I pay attention to what he does.”
“Simple as that?” Speculation infiltrated Meems’s tone.
“As simple as that.” Elena said it far too bright.
My own speculation sparked.
Holy camole. Did Elena have a crush on that beast of a biker? And why didn’t I feel so up in arms about it as when I thought she was married to Silas?
“If you say so,” Meems hummed, then Elena grabbed the salad bowl in one arm, ketchup in the other, and turned to carry it to the table.
Her face broke out in a giant smile when she noticed me standing there.
“Brinley, you made it. I was about to shout for you to get your cute little butt down here. I thought you might be hiding from us.”
Kai’s head popped up. “Bwinwey!”
I cleared the thickness from my throat. “Nope. No hiding here. I’m actually starving.”
It’d been a long fricking day, and I hadn’t gotten the chance to devour my snacks the way I’d planned to.
I wondered if Elena had any idea of what had gone down while we’d been in town. If Silas shared those things with her. Or maybe to them, those types of incidents were wholly routine.
“It’s a good thing because I made enough to feed an army,” Meems said.
Elena set the salad and ketchup onto the table. “I told you Meems and Lulu were in straight competition to outdo each other with the food. Not that you’re going to find me complaining.”
“I no compwaining.” Kai climbed to his feet, using his hands to push himself up before he came toddling in my direction.
Light, golden brown waves framing his adorable face.
The kid’s grin was ridiculous. So melty and sweet.
He came right up to me and lifted his arms over his head.
I looked around for help.
Elena chuckled. “That one is not shy.”
So, I, uh, was supposed to pick him up?
Apparently, since he popped up on his toes and made little grabby hands in the air.
All right then.
I swept him up.
It turned out, holding him was even meltier.
The child heavier than he looked, and there was something about his weight in my arms that made me pull him closer.
Kai laughed and smacked at my cheeks. “You eat, Bwinwey?”
“Yep. I’m going to eat.” The words were croaked and soggy.
Emotion lifting. Like flowers pushing up from a grave.
Or maybe it was just that the day had been long and strenuous.
That and I was still basically a prisoner in this place, no matter how welcoming they were being.
Trapped due to circumstances not my own.
But I was feeling less and less like I wanted to escape.
Maybe this was exactly how Stockholm Syndrome was formed.
Delicious food and adorable babies.
Definitely not grumbly, bossy bikers.
Nuh-uh, no sir, no way.
“What can I do to help?” I peeped, shoving off the wistfulness.
“Just make yourself whatever you want to drink.” Meems ticked her gray bun toward the refrigerator. “There’s tea and soda. Wine and beer. Silas is going to be back with milk from the club’s stock in just a minute if that’s more your flavor.”
She waddled around the counter with a large casserole dish.
It smelled as near to heaven as I could imagine.
Kai grabbed me by both cheeks and pushed in so close that our noses touched. His eyes were wide and emphatic. “Appwe juiwse.”
“Is that what you want to drink? Apple juice?” I basically cooed it. Apparently, I had sucker tattooed across my forehead because I was pretty sure I’d give this kid anything he wanted.