Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 90721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90721 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 363(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
“Who’s Kettle?” My father asked, scooping out a large helping of mashed potatoes and passing the bowl to Luke’s waiting hands.
“Kettle is a member of the Dixie Wardens, dad.” I explained as I lifted a piece of chicken onto my plate.
I’d hoped my dad would just leave it at that, but of course, the cop in him wouldn’t let him.
Sebastian was incredibly tightlipped about the club, barely giving out information about them unless absolutely necessary.
What I’d learned came from the internet, or from Winter and the ladies I’d recently made friends with.
“Kettle and I became prospects together. I’d worked at the station for a little over a month, after being discharged from the marines, before I decided to go ahead and give the club a go. Kettle and I became fast friends, and he decided to prospect also. We bonded over shitty jobs, all-nighters, and performing menial tasks. He’s been my best friend ever since.” Sebastian said as he scooped green beans onto Johnny’s plate and then his own.
When Sebastian started giving out information about Kettle like it wasn’t any big deal, I was stunned. And, to tell the truth, a little bit hurt. Why couldn’t he have told me this? It wasn’t as if I hadn’t asked him before. He, of course, had changed the subject immediately, but with one innocent question from my father, I’d learned more about the club in one measly hour than I’d learned in three whole months.
“How long did you have to prospect.” Luke asked.
My mother had to nudge my arm with the mashed potato bowl to get me to take it when my eyes remained locked on Sebastian’s face.
Taking the bowl, I scooped out a helping that was entirely way too much for me to eat, and clinked the spoon so hard onto my plate that it echoed around the room.
“Careful there, honey. You don’t want to break the plate. Are your ribs bothering you?” My mom asked in concern.
“No.” I muttered, setting the bowl down in the middle of the table.
My mother didn’t risk handing the green beans over, instead standing up and giving me a heaping spoon full.
“Thanks.” I muttered.
I hated green beans, and my mother knew it. Witch.
The conversation between the men about the MC, the workings, and the business aspects of it continued to flow. My mother and I stayed silent, interacting with the children when they would ask something, but otherwise staying quiet, as was our usual at dinner.
If I spoke, I’d get distracted, and then my food wouldn’t be eaten. A multitasker I was not, even at the most simplest level. My mother, in deference to me, typically stayed silent as well. Mostly out of habit, because if she didn’t speak, then her daughter wouldn’t answer. Easy as that.
Just as I always did when my mother cooked green beans, I slipped two and three at a time onto my father and brother’s plates. Both of them knew I was doing it, as they always did, and never ratted me out to my mother.
My mother was a firm believer in finishing what was on your plate. She hated wasting food. If anything was left over, we’d have it for lunch until it was all eaten.
That was the bane of a one-income household. You had to be money conscious while skimping and saving where you could.
“We’re having a barbeque this weekend at the clubhouse if you would like to go.” Sebastian said to my father.
Huh. That was the first time I’d heard anything about a barbeque. Was I invited?
“We’d planned to watch Katy for Luke this weekend while he worked. But thanks for the invite. Maybe next time we come down.” She declined politely.
A wave of exhaustion made me sway in my seat, bringing everyone’s attention to me.
The concoction of pills I’d consumed earlier must’ve finally kicked in, because I was so tired that I felt like I’d fall asleep sitting in my seat. If I didn’t go to lay down now, I’d be falling over in my proverbial soup.
Deciding that a bed was best idea for now, I shuffled to the bedroom, went to Sebastian’s side, and laid down. Burying my nose into Sebastian’s pillow, I let the sharp, strong scent of him fill my lungs before passing out, my stomach full of homemade goodness, and my mind filled with questions.
Chapter 15
This isn’t a bakery. I don’t sugarcoat shit.
-why Sebastian pisses Baylee off
Baylee
Questions about the club persisted until the day before the big barbeque with the club.
I had opted to go home so I could spend time with my family. By making that decision, it meant that Sebastian and I couldn’t talk about the Dixie Wardens, unless I wanted to do it over the phone. Sebastian had a way of controlling any, and all, situations.
That included our phone conversations.
The single time I tried to bring up my concerns, while on the phone, he’d shut it down so fast that my head had spun, by telling me he’d talk to me about it when he saw me next, and then hanging up.
Hanging up.
Without a goodbye, at that.
He’d called me about an hour later claiming that he’d had a call, but I wasn’t stupid. I knew that a tone actually rang in the station that indicated an actual call had come in; none of those sounds had played.
Which was why I was driving to his place at ten o’clock on a Friday.
With the few and far between phone conversations we’d had, I knew he’d be working today until ten. Johnny would be with his grandmother, so we should have some uninterrupted time to have a sit down conversation, without Sebastian able to hang up on me.
‘Should’ being the operative word, because when I pulled up in front of Sebastian’s home, he was nowhere to be seen.
His bike and truck were both gone.
How he’d managed that little feat, I didn’t know, but I’d be sure to ask him when I saw him again.
Deciding the best thing to do was wait, I backed my car into a spot at the back of Sebastian’s yard so he’d be able to pull under his carport without having to maneuver around my car.