Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79338 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 397(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Reaper nods like he expected no less. “Good. I figured, but I wanted to hear it. Take turns watching her until she wakes up? Who's up first?”
I raise my hand. “I'll go. And Reaper, go the fuck to sleep. You look like a zombie.”
“You should’ve seen me this morning,” he grumbles while Mack chuckles.
“I'll make sure he makes it,” Mack says. “C'mon, mud boy.”
We split up outside the door, and I slip into Mila's room quietly so I don't wake her.
She looks peaceful. Comfortable. Gorgeous.
Ours.
24
MILA
I’m floating. Not quite asleep, not quite awake. Did I die? Am I drowning in the river?
Except I'm dry. Warm. Something's covering me, but it's not water or Reaper’s damp t-shirt. My eyes are crusted over, so I rub them clear, but I'm afraid to open them. What if this is just a dream and I’m delirious?
Am I dead?
No.
“Morning, sleepyhead.”
My eyelids wrench open, and I'm staring up into a familiar, smiling face. “Mack!”
“Fuck, beautiful, I thought you were gonna sleep for fucking ever.”
I sit up so fast I get a head rush, but his big arms go around me, holding me steady before I realize that I'm butt naked. I don't care. He's seen me. “I thought I'd never see you again.”
“You doubting Reaper?”
“Is he okay? Please, say he's okay.” Happy tears soak the front of Mack’s shirt.
He squeezes me harder, pressing me close. “He's fine. Beat up and worn out, but he's fine. You were in worse shape. He just looks like someone threw him into a spin cycle with a bunch of rocks.”
“Tell me what happened. I remember him telling me he had to try to swim for help, and then…” I shake the cobwebs out of my head but it just leaves holes, not memories. “I have bits and pieces but I don’t know what was real or not.”
His eyes snag on where I’m pulling the blanket up to cover my breasts. “Fuck, you're gorgeous. Anyway, Reaper managed to crawl out in Grant Park. He climbed out of the water bare-ass naked and convinced some yuppie mom to lend him his phone. The club got on the fucking road and me, Scrapper and some of the boys managed to get down to you. I gotta say, you fucking terrified us. You were out cold and I had no idea if you were alive or dead until we got down to you.”
I pull the blankets up around me. I remember all too well curling up on the cement and closing my eyes, not knowing if I’d ever open them again.
“We got you, baby,” he says softly. “Doc—who before you freak out, is actually a fucking doctor and not just a nickname—looked you over. He thinks you got water in your lungs, and it should clear up with antibiotics. Not a shock that it fucked you up. Long River is sketchy enough normally, and it’s extra chunky after the rain.”
“Blegh.” I can almost smell and taste it clinging to me.
“How're you feeling?”
“A little woozy. Still waking up. Other than that, not great, but a lot better now that I don’t think we’re all dying.”
“The day’s still young,” Mack says before wincing. “Forget that. You need to rest. Scrapper's mom heard there was an accident and you guys fell in the river. She came by with a fucking bucket of chicken soup. I swear to God, Chef acted like she was trying to take over. It was fucking hilarious.”
Homemade soup? Just the thought of it makes me realize it’s probably been a day since I last ate. “That sounds amazing. I'm starving.”
“Good.” He pulls a pot out of a cabinet and puts it on a hot plate in the kitchenette.
That gets me wondering where I even am. I look around curiously. “Is this your room?”
It looks pretty much like Scrapper’s room, but too empty for anyone to live in it. There’s nothing but the bed in the corner, a small bathroom ahead of me and a living space with the kitchenette on one end. There's a beat up couch, a coffee table, a couple of chairs, a bookshelf and not much else.
“Mine? Nah. Welcome to your new home, beautiful.”
“What?” But then I notice that it’s my blanket on the bed, my backpack on the couch and my suitcase on the floor. “My phone!” I spot in on the nightstand and snatch it up. There is a crack on the bottom of the screen, but everything still works. I sniffle.
“We made an executive decision while you were out.” He dumps a jar of soup into the pot and starts stirring. “It isn’t good for anybody to have you staying in that apartment. It makes it harder for us to keep an eye on you, and you’re putting your friends in danger. I think we got all your shit, but if you’re missing anything, just let us know.”