Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 67490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 67490 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 337(@200wpm)___ 270(@250wpm)___ 225(@300wpm)
We all looked toward the sound of pounding feet.
Then my three-year-old daughter, Addison, came barreling out of the hallway toward me.
She’d been sleeping in the bedroom in a pile of blankets with her other cousins for nap time…but apparently, we were unaware that she’d been awake for a bit.
Every single one of the Carters who were sitting on the large sectional couch that Ande insisted on having for these exact purposes gasped.
My siblings and their significant others, who were also filling couches and bar area, just laughed.
None of the Carters had any significant others. Yet.
But a few of them were working on it.
None of them had kids.
And since they didn’t have kids, they didn’t know the shit that they could get up to.
My sisters, however, knew the score.
They were all horrible.
Every last one of them.
Even the one barreling toward me with what looked like peanut butter covering every single inch of her body.
I stood up and caught her before Addison could touch the couch, and ended up nearly dropping her when she started to slip through my hands as I picked her up.
The only thing that kept her from hitting the ground was my quick grasp lower, arm going toward her panty-clad butt.
And, of course, she was completely naked except for underwear.
Keeping her clothed might as well be an Olympic event.
“Darling child,” I said to the peanut butter-covered girl in my arms, now staining my clothes. “Why are you covered in peanut butter?”
Addison grinned at me, brandishing her mother’s smile like a weapon because she knew what it did to me.
“We wanted peanut butter balls,” she said sweetly.
I looked over at Ande and raised my brows. “Told you we should’ve made them before she took a nap.”
“And I told you that I didn’t feel like making them, Keene Carter!”
When we’d gotten married and I’d taken her name, I’d dropped the Day, too.
I was now Keene Carter, no middle name, and sure the fuck not Singh.
A muffled sound filled the room, but it was the last thing on my mind as I tried and failed to come up with a way to do this without making a huge fucking mess.
“Hey, your phone’s ringing.”
“Answer it for me, baby,” I said as I walked with Addison to the closet bathroom and started to hose her down.
Ande fished my phone out of my pocket, but before she could answer it Folsom said, “No need. We’re running late. We had to pull over so I could look into what I found.”
Tucking the phone into my back pocket, she reached for my messy shirt and managed to get it off me without getting peanut butter in my hair.
“And what did you find?” I asked curiously, wondering how hot the water would need to be to wash the peanut butter off. Addison hated hot water. The most she could do was lukewarm, and that was going to make the peanut butter removal process downright impossible.
I’d asked her to look into Abraham McBride, because I’d heard through the grapevine that he was being transferred to a private facility.
More likely, one of his wives—though he only had three who’d willingly stood by his side in the aftermath of what he’d done—had decided to find a way to pay for the extra care he needed.
And he did need it.
Autry had gone out of his way to make it so Abraham wouldn’t be given a light prison sentence, or tried lightly by the military due to his rank and status.
Meaning, Abraham had received some brain damage, and now he needed round-the-clock supervision because sometimes he forgot to do simple things like feed himself or take showers.
It was the best possible scenario, because he practically needed a twenty-four-hour caregiver now, and the military hadn’t wanted to deal with that. So they’d given him a dishonorable discharge after a bunch of media scrutiny. From there, he was sentenced to a prison that specialized in giving extra care to inmates.
Only, he was up for parole last month, and his wives had immediately started looking into moving him to a more comfortable facility. Now I just wanted to know where the fucker was going to live, so I could make sure it wasn’t anywhere near me and mine.
“They’re moving him to a place in Iowa,” Folsom said. “But get this. He had a setback last week. When they were cleaning up his belongings, getting him ready for the move, he tried to punch his own daughter. And the daughter literally fucked him up more. She dodged his hit, countered with an elbow to the solar plexus, and Abraham went down like a sack of shit. He hit his head on the corner of the bed, and he’s been out ever since. Everything is documented, too. So this was all on the up and up.”
“What happened to the daughter?” Ande asked, sounding alarmed.