Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69807 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
The man beside me stood, left his computer on the edge of his father’s desk, and fell into step with me as he guided me out of the station.
We passed a room where my mom was handcuffed to a table, and I made sure to flip her the bird as I passed.
My mother narrowed her eyes, her lips pinched.
That’s when I remembered…
“Excuse me,” I said as I walked toward my mother.
My mother stiffened, likely thinking that she was unable to defend herself with her hands handcuffed to the table in front of her.
I bent forward and yanked both of my socks off of her feet.
My mother cursed, and I narrowed my eyes at her. “If you ever steal my money, or my clothes, or my freakin’ tire, or my freakin’ makeup again, I’ll lose it.”
My mother sneered. “I brought you into this world. What’s yours is mine.”
I snorted. “You keep telling yourself that.”
I looked her in the eyes long and hard, letting her see the anger and the outright refusal to ever let this happen again, and her eyes widened.
I also didn’t miss the way her pupils were nearly blown.
“She’s probably on drugs, too,” I admitted as I walked back toward the detective waiting on me. “I don’t think there’s a day that goes by that she’s not using something.”
“You used to that?” he asked.
“Unfortunately,” I admitted. “My mom spent the majority of our childhood making our lives miserable. Drugs. Prostitution—though she calls it ‘getting a sugar daddy.’ Child abandonment. You name it, she fucked us with it.”
“You and who?” he asked.
“I have a twin sister,” I said. “We’ve spent the majority of our lives trying to figure out how to live after she massacred every avenue we had to make a life for ourselves. I can’t tell you a single time in my childhood when she was actually a great parent.”
“What about your father?” he wondered as he came to a stop near the doors that would lead out into the blistering Texas heat.
I gave him a quick rundown of my birth, which had him shaking his head. Then I told him about Silver’s father, and how mine took off.
He just blew out a breath in exasperation. “Sometimes, the system fails its kids.”
I snorted. “Understatement of the year, Carter. Understatement of the year.”
I didn’t stay long after that.
Instead, I drove straight home and then dropped my rent off with the front office.
After a quick “I’ll fucking kill you if you fuck this up again” look in my eyes, I headed to my place to finally catch some sleep.
At least, that was my intention, anyway.
Chevy Clayborne had other ideas.
Eight
It’s okay to feed your car a curb as a treat sometimes.
—Text from Keely to Chevy
CHEVY
I watched her undress, anger seething in my senses.
I wasn’t quite sure why I was mad.
Maybe it was because she hadn’t been there when I got there, so I’d had to let myself in.
Maybe it was because the lack of anything in her apartment set my teeth on edge.
Or, possibly, it was because I’d learned that she’d gone to the police.
Whatever the reason for my anger, it was very real, and very evident in my body’s stiffness.
Granted, had she paid attention to her surroundings, she could’ve easily noticed that someone was there.
When I’d entered, using a freakin’ credit card to get inside her place with hilarious ease, I’d noticed her pile of shoes beside the door.
After toeing off my boots, I ambled around her apartment, taking everything in.
There wasn’t much to take in, though, which led me to taking a seat in the recliner in her living room.
Right in plain sight for her to spot the moment she entered.
Only, her gaze was solely focused, and she was heading to her bathroom, intent in her every move.
The shower turned on, and I decided that I’d get up and head there to confront her.
But before I’d gotten too far, my phone rang.
I answered it because it was Webber, but I went into the laundry room to take the call.
“Yeah?” I answered as I found her panties and bras hanging up on a wire that zig-zagged across the laundry room.
“Good news,” Webber muttered. “She didn’t go to the cops to tell them shit. She went to the cops to make sure that her mother didn’t tell them. I guess I thought she had better sense than that, seeing as she knew what she signed on for when she started working for us. Anyway, Haze called and let us know that she’s been booked for robbery. He’s going to take over the case.”
I breathed a sigh of relief.
At least that was one thing we didn’t have to worry about anymore.
Haze Hopkins was a detective for Fort Worth Police Department.
He’d been on his way out of the job, hating just like we did that people that committed big crimes kept getting allowed out while the ones that did barely anything were hit with the book.