Total pages in book: 33
Estimated words: 32248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 32248 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 161(@200wpm)___ 129(@250wpm)___ 107(@300wpm)
Fuck.
At this point I don’t even have words for her.
I slowly get out of the car and shut the door as calmly as possible.
Gabriel walks up to me and takes my hand in his. “What the actual fuck, brother?”
“You tell me, is Meghan batshit pregnant crazy?” I ask.
“I…” Gabriel shakes his head. “I ain’t saying shit. She would somehow know I did.”
Johnathan snickers at us both, mean fucker that he is.
Moving to the trunk of the car, I pop the lock open and lift the lid.
Fuck.
Right there inside the trunk is the evidence of the crazy I live with.
Johnathan asks, “Why the fuck does he have a french fry stuck up his nose?”
Promise Me
Gabriel
“If it wasn’t the tacos, it would have been something else,” James groans, holding his stomach.
“Now, James,” Lucifer says with mirth, “I’ve offered to pay for a chef for your house.”
James winces and tries to sit up straight in his chair. “Sophia would be pissed if I even suggested it.”
Looking at how James has been rolling around in his chair, trying to maintain an upright position, I can’t stop myself from laughing. He’s more than likely been food poisoned again by Sophia and her exploits in the kitchen.
Can’t say I’m not enjoying the fucking shit out of it. Fucker deserves every moment of his misery. He’s a natural-born prankster, and the fact that he’s facing his karma right now makes me so happy that I lean over and slap him hard on the back.
“You look fine to me, brother,” I snicker.
James gulps loudly before shooting out of his chair. Forehead covered in sweat, there’s panic in his wild eyes.
He takes a couple unsteady steps towards the door.
“Don’t forget soggy, buttery pancakes and undercooked bacon,” I shout over my shoulder as he suddenly gags loudly and dashes from the room.
Shaking his head, Lucifer chuckles. “Was that really necessary?”
“Yup,” I say with a smirk. “Ain’t like that fucker hasn’t screwed with us all before.”
“It’ll be a miracle if Sophia doesn’t kill him with her culinary skills.” Lucifer sighs before looking out his office window. “I just don’t understand how she never gets sick from the food she makes.”
“She’s got a cast iron stomach, that’s for sure,” I say and shrug my shoulders at the thought. “Maybe she’s built up a tolerance, like those animals who eat poisonous snakes so they don’t die when they get bit.”
“Perhaps,” Lucifer says, looking back at me. “How’s Meghan doing?”
“Really good. She thinks she’s as big as a house even if she isn’t. She’s always craving that fruit and yogurt cereal, and she hasn’t had too much morning sickness.”
“You’re both still refusing to find out the sex of the baby?” Lucifer asks as if he can’t understand it. “You’re not even a little bit curious?”
I smile at him. “Nope. She made me promise to shoot whoever ruins the surprise for us in the foot.”
And I sure as fuck will. Don’t give a shit who it is that tries to ruin the surprise, I’ll fucking shoot ‘em.
Meghan wants to be surprised, and I think it’s going to be fucking awesome regardless if it’s a boy or girl. Only issue with not knowing is whether I’ll be buying blue or pink.
“Have you at least both agreed on names?” Lucifer asks.
“Yeah, somewhat. We know what we want to choose but it just depends on the moment,” I answer.
And I can see the lack of choosing drives him just as crazy as the not wanting to know the sex.
Lucifer, just like my brother, Simon, wants absolutes. They don’t like taking things as they come.
Me?
I don’t give a flying fuck what happens. Ten toes, ten fingers, and everything else a healthy baby needs and I’ll be happy. I don’t give a shit if my child’s a boy or a girl.
I wasn’t supposed to ever see the light of day again once they sent my ass to supermax. I was supposed to rot and die there. I wasn’t going to get a house, a wife, and children. All of those options were off the table for me. I got sent up the river because I was the hardest, the meanest.
The one who wouldn’t break.
This is a new life for me, and I don’t give a shit about any of the conventional shit regarding what we’re supposed to do. Meghan doesn’t want to know the sex yet, then neither do I. We don’t have the baby’s name picked yet? Who gives a fuck?
The only things in my life that I give two shits about are her and the little squirmy that’s in her belly.
“I fucking hate you,” James groans as he comes back into the office, pasty and looking like shit.
“Shouldn’t have let her make dinner,” I say. “It’s not like you couldn’t have cooked.”
“Fuck you,” James groans as he slumps back into his chair. “I’m still trying to talk her out of getting a baby goat or a Vietnamese potbelly pig.”