Read Online Relentless (Fallon Sisters Trilogy: Book #1) by P. J. O'Dwyer - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: P. J. O'Dwyer
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hand, Bren grabbed the quilt and wrapped it around her. Her bare feet hit the hardwood floor, the quilt dragging behind her like a cape. She checked the windows in the spare bedroom where she'd taken up residence. They were locked. Then why did she wake up on the tip of Antarctica? Whatever the reason, it would have to wait because she had to pee.
Bren entered the hall. She hit the light switch and stepped onto the cold tiles of the hall bathroom and almost wet her pants when she found herself still standing in darkness.
"What the hell?"
Did the light blow? Bren gathered up the quilt and fumbled in the dark until she hit the light switch in the hall—nothing.
Son of a bitch!
Seriously? One of the coldest nights in January. Standing in front of the thermostat, she tried to read the temperature. Frustrated, she lit the box with the blue glow of her cell phone, fifty-seven degrees. Bren's head fell, and she struck the wall with her palm.
My life sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks!
Gripping her cell phone, she flew downstairs to the kitchen, headed for the drawer next to the dishwasher where she kept the utility bills. Moonlight spilled in over the shutters above the sink, filling the kitchen with a dim, eerie glow. Rifling through the drawer, she snagged a bill, still sealed, and started to rip it open. The side porch creaked and Bren's hand stilled. She held her breath.
Relax. It's only the wind.
She slipped her finger under the envelope flap, peeked, and frowned. The porch creaked louder. Her heart held tight in her chest, and she slid her eyes from the window above the sink to the side door. The haze of a flashlight bolted right, then left, like a dizzy firefly. Bren jumped back, hiding around the corner of the broom closet, clenching her phone and the bill in her hand.
Her chest constricted. The boys. She was all they had, and the only defense against whoever was outside the door. She ripped the quilt from her shoulders, casting it to the floor, and rounded the broom closet. Easing the drawer open where she kept her skillets, she snatched the handle of the cast iron and headed toward the door.
Bren focused on the doorknob. Her heart skipped when it shook. He wasn't going to get the jump on her. Surprise would be her leverage. She turned the lock and grabbed for the knob. The door swung open, and she lunged forward, the skillet raised above her head.
"Lord in heaven!" he bellowed. "You gone round the bend, girl?"
Her shoulders relaxed, and she let the pan down to her side. "Shh. You'll wake the boys."
Bren's father stood several paces back, his face wide with surprise against the glow of the moon filtering under the covered porch. He brought the flashlight up and angled it dead center on her face.
She squinted against the bright light and waved an irritated hand toward the flashlight. "Turn that thing off," she hissed.
"You have lights?"
Shit.
If she didn't have electricity, her father didn't, either. She laid the pan on the counter and stepped back, shielding her face—from what was it, the intrusive light or her father's questioning eyes?
Another failure.
"No, Dad. We're on the same electric bill."
Daniel lit the floor of the kitchen with the flashlight and stepped in wearing his winter coat and flannel pajamas with his furry slippers. "Is that all you're going to say on the matter, Bren?" She didn't miss the rancor in his voice.
Bren ignored the question, grabbed the teakettle, and filled it. She reached above the stove and felt for the lighter in the cabinet. She turned the burner on. The pungent odor of gas filled her nostrils, and she flicked her Bic, admiring the orange-and-blue flame coming to life.
"Tea?" She glanced over her shoulder.
Daniel slid a chair out from the table and sat. He scratched his head, his body slumping back against the wooden spindles. "Come out with it."
Bren faced him. Leaning against the counter, she sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought I was handling everything." She gave a weak
Bren entered the hall. She hit the light switch and stepped onto the cold tiles of the hall bathroom and almost wet her pants when she found herself still standing in darkness.
"What the hell?"
Did the light blow? Bren gathered up the quilt and fumbled in the dark until she hit the light switch in the hall—nothing.
Son of a bitch!
Seriously? One of the coldest nights in January. Standing in front of the thermostat, she tried to read the temperature. Frustrated, she lit the box with the blue glow of her cell phone, fifty-seven degrees. Bren's head fell, and she struck the wall with her palm.
My life sucks. Sucks, sucks, sucks!
Gripping her cell phone, she flew downstairs to the kitchen, headed for the drawer next to the dishwasher where she kept the utility bills. Moonlight spilled in over the shutters above the sink, filling the kitchen with a dim, eerie glow. Rifling through the drawer, she snagged a bill, still sealed, and started to rip it open. The side porch creaked and Bren's hand stilled. She held her breath.
Relax. It's only the wind.
She slipped her finger under the envelope flap, peeked, and frowned. The porch creaked louder. Her heart held tight in her chest, and she slid her eyes from the window above the sink to the side door. The haze of a flashlight bolted right, then left, like a dizzy firefly. Bren jumped back, hiding around the corner of the broom closet, clenching her phone and the bill in her hand.
Her chest constricted. The boys. She was all they had, and the only defense against whoever was outside the door. She ripped the quilt from her shoulders, casting it to the floor, and rounded the broom closet. Easing the drawer open where she kept her skillets, she snatched the handle of the cast iron and headed toward the door.
Bren focused on the doorknob. Her heart skipped when it shook. He wasn't going to get the jump on her. Surprise would be her leverage. She turned the lock and grabbed for the knob. The door swung open, and she lunged forward, the skillet raised above her head.
"Lord in heaven!" he bellowed. "You gone round the bend, girl?"
Her shoulders relaxed, and she let the pan down to her side. "Shh. You'll wake the boys."
Bren's father stood several paces back, his face wide with surprise against the glow of the moon filtering under the covered porch. He brought the flashlight up and angled it dead center on her face.
She squinted against the bright light and waved an irritated hand toward the flashlight. "Turn that thing off," she hissed.
"You have lights?"
Shit.
If she didn't have electricity, her father didn't, either. She laid the pan on the counter and stepped back, shielding her face—from what was it, the intrusive light or her father's questioning eyes?
Another failure.
"No, Dad. We're on the same electric bill."
Daniel lit the floor of the kitchen with the flashlight and stepped in wearing his winter coat and flannel pajamas with his furry slippers. "Is that all you're going to say on the matter, Bren?" She didn't miss the rancor in his voice.
Bren ignored the question, grabbed the teakettle, and filled it. She reached above the stove and felt for the lighter in the cabinet. She turned the burner on. The pungent odor of gas filled her nostrils, and she flicked her Bic, admiring the orange-and-blue flame coming to life.
"Tea?" She glanced over her shoulder.
Daniel slid a chair out from the table and sat. He scratched his head, his body slumping back against the wooden spindles. "Come out with it."
Bren faced him. Leaning against the counter, she sighed. "I'm sorry. I thought I was handling everything." She gave a weak
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