Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 108709 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 544(@200wpm)___ 435(@250wpm)___ 362(@300wpm)
Making our way into the home, we quickly start searching it, making sure we’re well and truly alone, and the moment Aria realizes she’s safe, she lets loose like a rabid animal, scrounging her way through the kitchen, scavenging for food.
Not knowing how long the owners have been away, she steers clear of the fridge, heading for the pantry, and fuck me, I’ve never seen anybody inhale food the way she does.
Taking myself deeper into the home, I find the main bedroom and search through the owner’s clothes. It must be an older married couple if the photos on the nightstand are anything to go by. I find a change of clothes. A white shirt and a pair of black pants. Casual. Easy. Forgettable.
They’re not going to fit well, but at least I won’t need to wear a bright orange prison jumpsuit. I’m six-seven and packed with muscle. I already stand out like a fucking warship closing in on enemy shores. People notice me whether I’m trying or not, and the jumpsuit isn’t going to make that any easier.
Knowing Aria isn’t going to go anywhere while busy shoving packaged foods down her throat, I take my chance to shower and clean myself up. I keep it quick. While I’m sure she’s fine in the kitchen, I also don’t fully trust her.
After my shower, I pull my new clothes on. They’re tight, but until I can find something better, they’ll have to do. The fabric of the white shirt is straining over my arms, but it sure as fuck beats the jumpsuit I’ve worn for the past seven years.
Stepping out of the bathroom, I run into Aria in the hallway. “You good?”
She pauses, her gaze sailing up and down my body, taking in the way the fabric of my new shirt stretches around my arms. “Tight,” she murmurs, pursing her lips and nodding. “You got enough blood flow heading to that pea-brain of yours?”
I clench my jaw and blow out a breath, trying to calm the frustration burning through my veins. And instead of taking the bait and losing my shit like she knows I so easily could, I simply lean toward her and audibly inhale. “What’s that smell?”
Aria glares at me. “Fuck you,” she spits, shoving past me into the bathroom, only to slam the door closed behind her.
I laugh as I continue down the hallway, making my way into the kitchen and finishing off everything that Aria didn’t touch. The second I’m done, I start figuring out a game plan.
Heading back to the main bedroom, I search through the closet and find an old backpack, and just like I’ve done a million times before, I fill it with shit we need to survive. Riley, my brother, and I have left more than our fair share of temporary homes in the middle of the night, so I start packing on autopilot, knowing exactly what we need. As the oldest, I always felt responsible for Riley and Ash. It was my job to keep them safe, to be the one who made the call on when it was time to leave, to be the one who made sure we survived.
Once Ash was older and fell in with a rough group of friends, we clashed. He didn’t like following my lead, and I didn’t appreciate being questioned. My say was final, until he decided it wasn’t. He was closer to Riley, but he couldn’t care for her the way I could, couldn’t ensure her safety, and he sure as fuck wouldn’t have laid down his life just to see her shine. I would. And deep down, she knew that; she could feel it in her bones. He left, and when Aria refused to go with him, Ash resented me, right up until his final moments.
Searching through the closet, I grab some spare clothes and a jacket for each of us before moving to the linen closet for a few small blankets. Who knows if or when we’ll have to spend another night under the stars. While I don’t mind the way Aria gravitates toward me in her sleep, the idea of her shivering through another night guts me.
With that sorted, I search deeper, putting together the perfect survival kit. A lighter, lighter fluid, a new first aid kit, a couple flashlights, and I even get lucky when I find the owner’s fishing gear and an array of knives. Shoving as much as I can into the backpack, I start searching the kitchen and find a few empty water bottles before filling them to the brim and putting them down next to the overflowing backpack.
Peering out the kitchen window, I notice an old shed out back, and my brow arches.
Bingo.
Making my way to the back laundry room door, I peer out the small window, making sure none of the neighbors are out or happen to have a bird’s-eye view into the yard before unlocking the door. I slip outside, feeling too exposed.