Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80699 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 403(@200wpm)___ 323(@250wpm)___ 269(@300wpm)
I nod. “She’s very upset at the loss of Alec.”
“She’s upset she lost her free ride,” she counters.
I roll my lips between my teeth and take a calming breath.
“I’m here today, Mrs. Sanchez to see about getting her things she left at the apartment.”
“I was going to throw them out but saw reason when Alejandro suggested we donate the items. No sense in throwing out decent clothes when there are people in town who could use them.” She steps back into the house. “They’re in the garage. I have to open it from the inside.”
She closes the door, and I walk toward the garage, waving at Snatch to come help me. I don’t know how much stuff we have, but I’m willing to load up an entire house just to put a smile on Khloe’s face.
I hear the rumble of the garage door and watch as it slowly ascends.
“They didn’t throw them away?” Snatch asks rubbing a rough hand over his forearms.
“Thankfully, no,” I say as Mrs. Sanchez enters the garage from an inside door. “Those bags there,” she says pointing to three trash bags of clothes.
“This is everything?” I ask. How does a seventeen-year-old girl only have three bags of belongings?
“That’s it,” she says curtly.
I nod and scoop up two bags, leaving one for Snatch to grab.
“Thank you, Mrs. Sanchez.” I’ll ask Khloe to inventory her stuff tonight. If anything’s missing, I’ll be back. Grieving or not, you don’t take advantage of others.
“She ruined our son,” she calls out as we walk down the driveway. “She’ll ruin you, too.”
I ignore her and continue to the truck.
Chapter 17
Khloe
I didn’t ask Kid what he was planning to do when he brought me back to the clubhouse. I didn’t want to be alone, but after spending the entire day with him, I didn’t feel like I had a right to continue to monopolize all of his time.
It’s been hours since he left saying he had some things to take care of, and I hate the loneliness. I hate hearing the other people in the house laughing and joking with each other. I’ve always been the outsider to protect myself, to stay away from the people who wanted to do nothing more than insult me to make themselves feel better.
I was an outcast with Alec, and that suited me just fine. Now I’m in the middle of a clubhouse with people I don’t know, alone. I know if I went out and joined them they wouldn’t be petty assholes like the kids at school; they’re all adults and seem to be past that immature bullshit, but I sit alone in my room, torturing myself with loneliness.
The TV is on but turned down low, and I’ve finally decided to go to bed. The sun is down, so that seems late enough. I hate that I want to sleep all the time, but when I sleep, I don’t hurt as much. My dreams are of Alec and the fun times we had just hanging out and goofing around. Last night I dreamed of Kid.
In that dream I didn’t feel Alec’s loss, rather I felt loved, not abandoned. In that dream there was hope. Hope for my future. Hope for something more than just the bleak existence I feel when I’m awake.
A soft knock at the door jolts me from my near sleep. It swings open as I’m sitting up to go answer it. I see Kid standing in the doorway holding a basket. I knew it would be him. Other than light conversation while eating, no one else has approached me.
He smiles and carries the basket inside.
“It’s a little early for bed isn’t it?” he asks setting the laundry basket down on the end of the bed.
I look inside quickly. Shocked, I hold up my favorite t-shirt. “These are mine,” I say shuffling through the neatly folded clothes.
I watch him walk back outside, grab another basket full of my clothes and brings them inside.
He sets it at my feet. My cheeks redden as I reach down to the scraps of lace and silk on the top of the second basket. Reaching in I pull out a pair of sexy, black underwear. My face falls, not knowing who they belong to. “These aren’t mine,” I tell him holding the scrap between two fingers. My chest aches at knowing they probably belong to the redhead I’ve yet been introduced to.
“Well, Sweet Girl,” he says with a smirk. “I got all of your clothes from the Sanchez’s house. They were wrinkled so I figured I’d wash them for you.”
“Still doesn’t explain these,” I say reaching down and pulling more underwear and bras from the top of the pile. “These aren’t mine,” I tell him again.
“They are now. The pairs you had were,” he scrunches his nose up. “Not suitable. So, I had Snatch run and get you some new things while I took care of the rest.”