Total pages in book: 57
Estimated words: 53462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 53462 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 267(@200wpm)___ 214(@250wpm)___ 178(@300wpm)
“Hey!” I say, glancing up to see a man I don’t recognize holding on to the handle of the cart that hit me.
He stares at me, a scowl on his pock-marked face.
“Can I help you?” I ask, unnerved by both his actions and menacing expression.
He strides around the cart, getting into my personal space. I glance around, unsure if there is anyone else around me. Afraid now, I begin to tremble, gripping the cart harder in my hand. If he touches me, I’ll scream loud enough to bring people inside the neighboring stores out here to help.
“I’ve got a message for you,” he says, so close I can smell his bad breath. “Mind your own damned business, and you’ll be fine. Stick your nose where it doesn’t belong and you’ll have problems.” He punctuates his message with a shove that doesn’t hurt me, just reinforces his point.
“What are you talking about?” I ask him.
“You look like a smart girl. Figure it out,” he says, and takes off without taking his cart with him.
Trembling, I put the last bag in the back of the truck, slide both carts into the collection area, and rush to lock myself inside the SUV. I try to think of what that threat means and come up empty. I don’t know of anyone who wants to threaten me, am not involved in anyone else’s business. Not anymore.
The incident reminds me of the time before the trial of my former boss, when he sent someone to convince me that it was in my best interest to back off and not testify against him. But Parker Alexander is in jail, and I am living a quiet life here. I bite down on my lower lip. It just doesn’t make any sense, but the incident has me rattled, and I can’t wait to get out of here.
The short drive home seems endless. When I finally arrive at the house, I pull the SUV into the garage and close the door behind me before getting out of the car. The garage is big enough for me to still be able to open the trunk and unload the groceries, even with the electric door closed, and I feel safer now that I am back home. Austin’s car is on his side of the garage and a sense of relief washes over me that I’m not here alone.
I walk into the house, my arms loaded up with grocery bags, as many as I can carry hanging from each hand, and deposit them on the counter. I don’t see Austin, which means he is in his office or the home gym, so I go about putting away the items I purchased.
When I finish that chore, I turn my attention to emptying the full dishwasher. I don’t realize how badly I am still shaking until I drop a glass onto the floor. It shatters, the pieces spreading out around me.
“Dammit.” I pull out the garbage pail and drop to my knees to pick up the larger pieces before I begin sweeping up the rest.
I manage to place a few bigger shards into the trash, but when I lift another, I miss how sharp and jagged the edges are and slice my palm.
“Oww!” I drop the glass and grab my hand only to find blood flowing from the cut.
I close my eyes and groan, doubting this day can get much worse.
“Mia?” Austin comes up behind me. I didn’t notice him entering the room. “I heard something shatter. Oh, shit,” he says, taking in my bloodied hand.
I grasp my wrist and look up at him. “I’m sorry. I was just trying to clean this up.”
“You don’t need to be sorry. Come here.” He helps me up, lifting me beneath my elbow and walking me over to the sink. “Let me see.” He gently turns my hand over but blood covers it, obscuring the cut.
“I can’t believe I was so clumsy,” I mutter.
He shakes his head. “Don’t worry about the glass. But we do have to see how deep the cut is.” He turns on the faucet, sticking his finger underneath the running water to make certain it is cool. “Okay, this may hurt but let’s see what we’re dealing with. Ready?”
I draw a deep breath and nod, letting him control things as we move my hand beneath the spray. It is easy to see that the cut looks deep, and for all I know, there are smaller shards of glass in the open wound.
“I think this is going to need stitches,” he says, reading my mind.
As soon as I take my palm away from the water, blood begins to pool again.
“Let’s head over to the emergency walk-in clinic,” Austin says. “I think it’ll be faster than dealing with the emergency room at the hospital.”
I nod.
He grabs a clean hand towel from the drawer and presses it against my hand. “Hold that there. I just need to put on shoes and grab my keys.”