Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75642 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 303(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
My chin is quivering, tears threatening to spill from my lashes as I drive around my apartment complex without stopping in an effort to see if anyone is following me. I’ve never had to be so diligent in my life, and I’m not certain I’d be able to identify the signs of someone trailing me even if I saw it. I accept that Adrian and Keres know exactly where I live, considering they recognized my car even when I hadn’t been to my sister’s house in over a year.
Instead of immediately climbing out of my car, I park and pull out my phone. My search of Keres brings up all the things I would expect—news articles, trial information for men being picked up for petty crimes but nothing that would keep them incarcerated for very long.
Cerberus MC, the name on the patch of Vincent’s leather vest, is a different story. They’re touted as angels on earth, saviors in their own right, for the number of men, women, and children they’ve helped in returning to their families after they’d been kidnapped, trafficked, and sold in the human skin trade. Their president, Diego “Kincaid” Anderson, has won more than a handful of awards for his part in fighting sex traffickers.
As much as I wanted to point fingers and place blame, accusing Vincent of being as bad as the members of the Keres MC, it’s clear he’s nothing like them. It niggles in the back of my mind that this could be a front for a dirty business, but Vincent was never that type of guy. My crush from all those years ago was based largely on the fact that he wasn’t like the other guys who Carlen would bring around when visiting Janet. They’d leer at me, try to get me alone and away from everyone else. They’d talk suggestively even before I was old enough to understand what they were referencing. Vincent was protective, and as much as I hate to admit, he was brotherly. He’d walk between the road and me. He’d open doors for me, checking on me if he got a sense that something wasn’t quite right with me.
I think it’s those instances that made me, what I thought at the time in my adolescence, fall in love with him. While other girls in school were fawning over movie stars and boy bands, I was equally obsessed with Vincent Chilton. Only the guy I’d fantasize about marrying would come over to our house regularly. He’d let me cut in front of him to make my burger first if we were having a cookout. Granted, he did the same thing with all of Janet’s female friends, but in my head, what we had was special.
I keep scrolling, finding more than one article that showcases people who aren’t as pleased with Cerberus. They haven’t been able to save every person they’ve set out to, and as understanding as that is, it’s also heartbreaking for the families who weren’t able to see their loved ones again.
The sun is so low in the sky, I can no longer see it directly around the apartment building on the opposite side of the parking lot. Being caught in the dark with the kids isn’t a smart idea any day of the week around here, much less after discovering we’re in real danger.
I climb out of the car and head to my apartment first, packing up what I need before heading to the babysitter’s apartment. I use the term babysitter loosely because she has already mentioned that I needed to find someone else.
I want to cry as I lift my hand to knock because I know this could be the very last time the boys will be here. Vincent will not give up on them, and if he digs too much deeper, he’ll no doubt form the opinion that I’m not worthy of taking care of them. As hard as it is to admit, I know I’m not financially capable. My last trip to the grocery store was evidence of that. Without some major windfall or winning the lottery, I’m the captain of a very rapidly sinking ship, and I’m not so prideful that I’ll drag those innocent boys down with me just because of something as stupid as pride.
If I had any doubt that Sammie was losing patience with me, it’s gone the second she opens the door after I knock.
“Hey,” I say, hating that I’ve put such a strain on our friendship.
We aren’t exactly close, but she’s the only person I’ve had any sort of meaningful conversation with in the last six months.
“The younger one broke one of my plates at dinner,” Sammie mutters.
“His name is Luca, and it was an accident,” Jace snarls, his tiny fists clenched at his side.
“I’m still down a plate,” she snaps, arguing with the child as she points to the pieces on the top of the trash can.