Read Online Roman's Redemption: Roman: Book II (Roman's Trilogy) by Kimber S. Dawn - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Kimber S. Dawn
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trusty, albeit rusty, black dumpster with fresh, clean, new clothes all the way to my skin.
Now, as I round the corner from behind the strip mall, dressed to the nines complete with my knee high dark brown leather boots, I don’t allow the fact that my hair looks like an oil spill because it hasn’t been washed in over nine days bother me.
But the two police cars screeching to a halt before both driver doors swing open with a police officer behind them pointing a gun and shouting for me to, “Put your hands up!” Well, lets just say when that happens, to anyone on any given day, it kinda puts a damper on anything you had goin’.
Fucking. Pigs.
“Hey! I am a pig! I mean, I’m a freaking cop! Don’t say that! And I told you this was a bad, terrible idea!”
“Really? You’re a cop, Mac? Last time I checked you were an ex-cop. And are you seriously trying to talk shit? Go back to your corner and wait for your name to be called.”
I’m cuffed. Read my Miranda rights. Shoved in the back of a cop car. Then, not so gracefully, pulled from the back of a cop car. Booked and tossed in a jail cell. There aren’t even any bars, just four beige concrete walls with a beige steel door and a sliding peephole in it big enough to look in, or shove a tray through.
On day five is when Mace begins to lose herself, her sanity. She can handle any brand of torture and any array of pain, but not solitude… I, Mac, find it ironic.
Chapter 11
The piece of grilled pb&j I was chewing dislodged itself from the roof of my mouth only to become lodged again in the middle of my esophagus and therefore, blocking my airway as the meaning of Ivy’s words settle between us.
“So, did mommy die because she was old, or sick, or did an evil man kill her, daddy?”
I leap from my seat, sending my chair backwards crashing against the tile floor. My eyes scan the breakfast room as I slam my fist into my chest over and over. Eyes watering, I frantically rack my brain and start to think how ironic it is I’m choking on a piece of sandwich. When I spot the bar I try to head in its direction with full intentions to use it to perform the Heimlich maneuver on myself. I don’t know if it’s from the lack of oxygen, or if I’m really moving backwards, but the bar seems to be getting further and further away through my tunnel vision.
I hear Ivy squeal as short, stocky arms circle me from behind before yoking me up in the Heimlich.
As soon as my legs are knocked out from beneath me, the piece of pb&j shoots out and blessed air fills my lungs.
When I get my bearings, I realize I’m bent over at the waist pulling air in and out of my lungs when Andrew speaks, “You alright, Rome?”
I stand up straight, certain I am looking at Andrew, but there are literally four of him. Three of which are not his height, weight, build, nothing. “Yeah, I’m good.” I nod as my eyes scan the three other Andrews and then shake my head, confused before turning to make my way in the front sitting room.
I sit in the middle of the couch letting my head lull back and shove each of my thumbs into my eye sockets keeping the rest of my fingers linked. An exhausted sigh releases from my chest, “What’s up, Drew? What are Heather’s brothers doing her?”
“Oh. So you do know who we are. You just took it upon yourself to make sure we didn’t know who YOU were, is that it?”
Through another sigh, I answer, “Drew, answer my goddamn question fast and escort these men from my house. It’s been a bad fucking day, hell it’s been a bad fucking two weeks, and I do not have the patience.”
“There’s a girl. Authorities picked her up for shoplifting in Albany, Oregon,” I pull my head up in time to see Andrew nod in one of Heather’s brothers direction, “Your buddy at Oregon PD, he said they’ve had her for five days, right, Bobby?”
I lean over and rest my elbows on my knees before using the heel of my hand to crack both sides of my neck, then
Now, as I round the corner from behind the strip mall, dressed to the nines complete with my knee high dark brown leather boots, I don’t allow the fact that my hair looks like an oil spill because it hasn’t been washed in over nine days bother me.
But the two police cars screeching to a halt before both driver doors swing open with a police officer behind them pointing a gun and shouting for me to, “Put your hands up!” Well, lets just say when that happens, to anyone on any given day, it kinda puts a damper on anything you had goin’.
Fucking. Pigs.
“Hey! I am a pig! I mean, I’m a freaking cop! Don’t say that! And I told you this was a bad, terrible idea!”
“Really? You’re a cop, Mac? Last time I checked you were an ex-cop. And are you seriously trying to talk shit? Go back to your corner and wait for your name to be called.”
I’m cuffed. Read my Miranda rights. Shoved in the back of a cop car. Then, not so gracefully, pulled from the back of a cop car. Booked and tossed in a jail cell. There aren’t even any bars, just four beige concrete walls with a beige steel door and a sliding peephole in it big enough to look in, or shove a tray through.
On day five is when Mace begins to lose herself, her sanity. She can handle any brand of torture and any array of pain, but not solitude… I, Mac, find it ironic.
Chapter 11
The piece of grilled pb&j I was chewing dislodged itself from the roof of my mouth only to become lodged again in the middle of my esophagus and therefore, blocking my airway as the meaning of Ivy’s words settle between us.
“So, did mommy die because she was old, or sick, or did an evil man kill her, daddy?”
I leap from my seat, sending my chair backwards crashing against the tile floor. My eyes scan the breakfast room as I slam my fist into my chest over and over. Eyes watering, I frantically rack my brain and start to think how ironic it is I’m choking on a piece of sandwich. When I spot the bar I try to head in its direction with full intentions to use it to perform the Heimlich maneuver on myself. I don’t know if it’s from the lack of oxygen, or if I’m really moving backwards, but the bar seems to be getting further and further away through my tunnel vision.
I hear Ivy squeal as short, stocky arms circle me from behind before yoking me up in the Heimlich.
As soon as my legs are knocked out from beneath me, the piece of pb&j shoots out and blessed air fills my lungs.
When I get my bearings, I realize I’m bent over at the waist pulling air in and out of my lungs when Andrew speaks, “You alright, Rome?”
I stand up straight, certain I am looking at Andrew, but there are literally four of him. Three of which are not his height, weight, build, nothing. “Yeah, I’m good.” I nod as my eyes scan the three other Andrews and then shake my head, confused before turning to make my way in the front sitting room.
I sit in the middle of the couch letting my head lull back and shove each of my thumbs into my eye sockets keeping the rest of my fingers linked. An exhausted sigh releases from my chest, “What’s up, Drew? What are Heather’s brothers doing her?”
“Oh. So you do know who we are. You just took it upon yourself to make sure we didn’t know who YOU were, is that it?”
Through another sigh, I answer, “Drew, answer my goddamn question fast and escort these men from my house. It’s been a bad fucking day, hell it’s been a bad fucking two weeks, and I do not have the patience.”
“There’s a girl. Authorities picked her up for shoplifting in Albany, Oregon,” I pull my head up in time to see Andrew nod in one of Heather’s brothers direction, “Your buddy at Oregon PD, he said they’ve had her for five days, right, Bobby?”
I lean over and rest my elbows on my knees before using the heel of my hand to crack both sides of my neck, then
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