Read Online Mack (King #4) by Mimi Jean Pamfiloff - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Mimi Jean Pamfiloff
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shouldn’t be alarmed by her husband, this King man, or the other “large gentleman” who might be standing guard outside my house.
Sure. Nothin’ strange or alarming about a man who just threatened to off me (and claimed to have done it multiple times before) standing outside my home, because he thought I was this Óolal person, which, of course, he believed because he was Mack’s brother and he and Mack were drinking the same “I’m thousands of years old and from ancient Greece” fruit punch.
Okay. Deep breath.
But as my brain argued and built the case as to why King and Mia were crazy and in need of a jail cell for breaking and entering—him with intent to murder and her with intent to make chicken soup—the other part of my mind kept throwing ugly, vicious curveballs at my poor throbbing skull. Bottom line: Things had been happening to me, and there were no explanations. That dream, for example? King was that man I’d run from. Not like him. Not similar to him. It was him.
What the fuck? I thought, lying there in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was just after one in the morning, and I didn’t have a car, but I needed to see Mack.
I pulled myself from bed and began digging in my closet. I reached for a long dark sweater, black jeans, and boots. If I really had a guy standing outside my house, my only option was to sneak out the back way. I just hoped no one would be keeping an eye on that part because they assumed I was too sick to go anywhere.
Still feeling queasier than a dog on a boat, I hobbled to the bathroom to pop in my contacts and then grabbed my purse before heading outside through the sliding glass door in the living room. My trembling body creaked its way down the wooden stairs to the beach. Just breathe, just breathe. You’ll be fine. From there, I’d have to walk about a half mile to the public parking lot and call for a cab.
As I walked along the shore, the night was dark and cold, and the wind felt like icy needles pushing under my skin. I slid my cell from my pocket and called a cab. “Yes, the Carpinteria parking lot.”
The woman on the other end probably thought it was a prank because the park was closed after sunset. She asked for my location one more time and helpfully pointed out the time.
“Yes,” I said. “I know it’s one twenty in the morning. Date gone bad. What can I say?”
The dispatcher immediately changed her snotty tune. I felt bad for appealing to her sense of sisterhood, but desperate times.
While I briefly waited for the cab in the parking lot, I began wishing that the emotional switch inside me hadn’t been turned on. I felt afraid and confused and a hundred different things that kept clouding the facts. How do people live like this?
The cab pulled up five minutes later, and seven minutes after that, I was at the center, nearly falling to my knees.
If it weren’t for my need to conceal my true state from the night watch, I would’ve given up with the whole standing on my feet thing altogether and crawled my way to Mack. I felt like something was sucking the energy right out of my body.
After dishing a heaping pile of bullshit to the nice security man on duty about a very troubled patient who had me worried, I sauntered down the hall, chin held high, my energy sinking like a brick in a cold river.
When I reached Mack’s room, the darkness—for the first time in my life—felt like my sanctuary. Inside that room were answers. Inside that room was Mack, and everything led back to him.
I pushed forward, and my heart sank through the cold floor. The room was empty. He’s gone. He’s fucking gone. I fell to my aching knees, so lost that it hurt more than words could ever express.
They must’ve found him. They must’ve taken him away. As I kneeled there, drowning in crippling emotions I wasn’t prepared to process, something snapped. My connection to sanity and the world I knew began
Sure. Nothin’ strange or alarming about a man who just threatened to off me (and claimed to have done it multiple times before) standing outside my home, because he thought I was this Óolal person, which, of course, he believed because he was Mack’s brother and he and Mack were drinking the same “I’m thousands of years old and from ancient Greece” fruit punch.
Okay. Deep breath.
But as my brain argued and built the case as to why King and Mia were crazy and in need of a jail cell for breaking and entering—him with intent to murder and her with intent to make chicken soup—the other part of my mind kept throwing ugly, vicious curveballs at my poor throbbing skull. Bottom line: Things had been happening to me, and there were no explanations. That dream, for example? King was that man I’d run from. Not like him. Not similar to him. It was him.
What the fuck? I thought, lying there in my bed, staring at the ceiling.
I glanced at the clock on my nightstand. It was just after one in the morning, and I didn’t have a car, but I needed to see Mack.
I pulled myself from bed and began digging in my closet. I reached for a long dark sweater, black jeans, and boots. If I really had a guy standing outside my house, my only option was to sneak out the back way. I just hoped no one would be keeping an eye on that part because they assumed I was too sick to go anywhere.
Still feeling queasier than a dog on a boat, I hobbled to the bathroom to pop in my contacts and then grabbed my purse before heading outside through the sliding glass door in the living room. My trembling body creaked its way down the wooden stairs to the beach. Just breathe, just breathe. You’ll be fine. From there, I’d have to walk about a half mile to the public parking lot and call for a cab.
As I walked along the shore, the night was dark and cold, and the wind felt like icy needles pushing under my skin. I slid my cell from my pocket and called a cab. “Yes, the Carpinteria parking lot.”
The woman on the other end probably thought it was a prank because the park was closed after sunset. She asked for my location one more time and helpfully pointed out the time.
“Yes,” I said. “I know it’s one twenty in the morning. Date gone bad. What can I say?”
The dispatcher immediately changed her snotty tune. I felt bad for appealing to her sense of sisterhood, but desperate times.
While I briefly waited for the cab in the parking lot, I began wishing that the emotional switch inside me hadn’t been turned on. I felt afraid and confused and a hundred different things that kept clouding the facts. How do people live like this?
The cab pulled up five minutes later, and seven minutes after that, I was at the center, nearly falling to my knees.
If it weren’t for my need to conceal my true state from the night watch, I would’ve given up with the whole standing on my feet thing altogether and crawled my way to Mack. I felt like something was sucking the energy right out of my body.
After dishing a heaping pile of bullshit to the nice security man on duty about a very troubled patient who had me worried, I sauntered down the hall, chin held high, my energy sinking like a brick in a cold river.
When I reached Mack’s room, the darkness—for the first time in my life—felt like my sanctuary. Inside that room were answers. Inside that room was Mack, and everything led back to him.
I pushed forward, and my heart sank through the cold floor. The room was empty. He’s gone. He’s fucking gone. I fell to my aching knees, so lost that it hurt more than words could ever express.
They must’ve found him. They must’ve taken him away. As I kneeled there, drowning in crippling emotions I wasn’t prepared to process, something snapped. My connection to sanity and the world I knew began
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