Total pages in book: 28
Estimated words: 26144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 26144 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 131(@200wpm)___ 105(@250wpm)___ 87(@300wpm)
Fuck.
I want to throw the piece-of-shit cutters across the room, but I don’t. I keep them, sliding them behind me. They might not cut my chains, but they’ll sure as fuck cut through flesh. That I can make sure of.
I lean against the wall and decide to try to sleep. There’s nothing more I can do and I need to keep my strength up. Hopefully tomorrow I’ll find out more on who the hell took me, what he wants, and then I can try to formulate a plan better.
I don’t know who took me, but they must not know what the MC will do when they find him. But he’ll soon find out.
I close my eyes, but instead of being smart and planning my revenge, I starting thinking about the little blonde who came in earlier and wonder just how she fits into this puzzle.
Chapter Five
Langley
A day has passed since I’ve gone down into the basement where Einstein is keeping the biker. Last night, he’d been too messed up to even realize what I’d done, which is a plus for me, because I really don’t want to get into it with a meth-head. I’ve been watching, but I don’t think he’s has gone down there and checked on him at all.
I can hear Einstein in the other room making a drug deal, and I hate that Mama and I are here having to live through it. I fucking hate him, not just for all the shit he’s put us through over the years, but for the fact that he now has gotten himself—and us by association—into deep shit with a motorcycle club.
I still have no idea what he plans on doing with the guy, and I should’ve stayed out of it. I know that, because this is dangerous all the way around. But the humane part of me has to make sure he’s okay.
I hear the front door open and close then turn my attention to Mama, seeing her soundly asleep, a peaceful expression on her face. Oh, she knows what her son is up to, and I know she hates it as much as I do. But at this point in her life, in her condition, there’s nothing she can do about it.
And that’s where I come in.
I tuck the blanket around her even more and stand, walking toward the bedroom door and quietly opening it. I don’t hear anything, and so I open it farther and step out, peeking my head around the corner, seeing the kitchen and living room are empty.
With one more glance back at Mama, I shut the door as quietly as I opened it and make my way into the kitchen. Surely, the MC president has finished his food and can use more and some fresh water.
After grabbing an apple and a bottle of water, as well as heating up one of those ham and cheese pocket things in the microwave, I open the basement door. Thankfully, I went grocery shopping this morning, of course having to use the money I earned, because Einstein only brought the prepackaged crap into the house.
I stand at the top of the stairs for a second and look down. At first, I don’t hear anything, but then the sound of the chains rattling has my heart beating faster.
Taking the basement steps slowly, I make my way down them one at a time, and when I’m at the landing, I look over to where I know he’s sitting. He already has his focus trained right on me, his back against the wall, his legs outstretched. His hands are in his lap, and I swear the power that comes from him is so evident I can feel it taking over my body.
Even in this situation, he is calm and collected, reminding me of a lion about to attack.
I swallow in fear and hesitation.
This man can crush me as if I’m nothing more than an annoying bug.
“Hi again,” I say and feel like a fool for saying anything at all, as if we’re friends and I’m greeting him for lunch. He doesn’t respond, but then I don’t expect him to.
I walk over toward him and hold up the food and water bottle then glance down at the uneaten pizza and untouched glass of water. I feel my brows furrow in confusion but don’t bother asking why he didn’t eat or drink. He’s smart, and I realize maybe he thought I tampered with it. And I know no amount of me trying to convince him otherwise will change that.
I keep my gaze on him as I walk a few steps closer then crouch and reach out for the plate and glass of water. I set the new food down within his reach and quickly stand, taking several steps back to keep my distance. But still, he doesn’t move, just watches me as if he’s trying to read me, as if he’s formulating his plan. I don’t blame him. If I were in his situation, I would too.