Read Online The Dragon (G.O.N.Y. - Double Dragon) by Violette Dubrinsky - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Violette Dubrinsky
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know.”
“When you’re paying, you can decide which peanut butter to get—”
“Excuse yourself, but my tax dollars pay you so technically I am paying for this Skippy peanut butter…”
Standing just a few paces behind in her Yankees baseball cap and bubble jacket, Jezebel shook her head at the antics that had become both normal and entertaining, before returning her attention to the large jar of dill pickles she currently held. She’d spied them the moment they entered the grocery store aisle. Although she’d had Brandon purchase a jar just days ago, she’d finished it, along with the peanut butter. Hence, Brandon and Delilah were having it out over which brand would replace the set currently digesting in Jezebel’s stomach.
If someone had asked her months ago what she’d be doing for Halloween, Jezebel would have probably laughed and asked them to ask her a serious question. Halloween was for children. Still, she’d never imagined she’d be spending Halloween doing midnight shopping in a grocery store under “Witness Protection.” After staying weeks in Maryland, she’d been relocated to Georgia, and weeks later, was now in upstate New York. She’d changed names as well, and was now Samira Michelson, housewife and expectant mother.
After she’d told Dr. Hassad she was ready, Jezebel had steeled herself for the inevitable, but when the anesthesiologist walked in, and began prepping her to go under, she’d stopped them. She couldn’t. Even with every reason as to why she should swirling in her mind, Jezebel just…couldn’t. Yes, her life was unstable, and less than ideal, but women gave birth to healthy, happy babies in worse conditions daily. The child had done nothing wrong, and though she wasn’t the most maternal, Jezebel realized she wanted him. It had nothing to do with Ramsey, and everything to do with her. This was her baby, an innocent child created unexpectedly, and while she considered herself Pro-Choice and a die-hard feminist, she couldn’t go through with it.
She’d gone to the clinic to remove a fetus; she’d left with a prescription for prenatal vitamins.
“Look, why don’t we just ask Samira since technically, she’s going to be eating most of it?” Jezebel’s head whipped up at her most recent name, and she saw Brandon look from her face to her hands and sigh. He put the container of peanut butter back and grabbed two of the largest ones. “Jif or store brand?”
“Or Skippy?” With a smirk, Delilah held up a large container of her favorite peanut butter.
“Skippy.”
“Told you,” Delilah murmured, tossing the peanut butter into their shopping cart. “And did you just call my sister fat?” She hissed it so loudly Jezebel was certain the other late-night grocery shoppers several aisles over heard her.
“I never said anything about fat,” Brandon retorted with a scowl. For a mostly even-tempered male, Brandon lost it in seconds when dealing with Delilah. “We should get your hearing checked. Obviously, you’re going prematurely deaf.”
Shaking her head, Jezebel returned her attention to the pickles. She’d always heard people complaining about strange, borderline disgusting, pregnancy cravings, and she’d never understood it until now. Pickles were delicious. Dill pickles dipped in peanut butter or even ketchup and mustard, made her happy. There had been days, bad days, when she’d sat in her armchair, a throw across her body, staring into dying embers at her fireplace and thinking back on just how much she’d given up. She’d lost so much for a man who didn’t love her, had never loved her. Despite the sadness, and slight depression, having a pickle dipped in peanut butter would instantly make her feel better.
It probably had more to do with the baby’s wants than hers, Jezebel thought with a little smile. She’d never really contemplated having children before learning she was pregnant, but whenever Jezebel thought about the child in her
“When you’re paying, you can decide which peanut butter to get—”
“Excuse yourself, but my tax dollars pay you so technically I am paying for this Skippy peanut butter…”
Standing just a few paces behind in her Yankees baseball cap and bubble jacket, Jezebel shook her head at the antics that had become both normal and entertaining, before returning her attention to the large jar of dill pickles she currently held. She’d spied them the moment they entered the grocery store aisle. Although she’d had Brandon purchase a jar just days ago, she’d finished it, along with the peanut butter. Hence, Brandon and Delilah were having it out over which brand would replace the set currently digesting in Jezebel’s stomach.
If someone had asked her months ago what she’d be doing for Halloween, Jezebel would have probably laughed and asked them to ask her a serious question. Halloween was for children. Still, she’d never imagined she’d be spending Halloween doing midnight shopping in a grocery store under “Witness Protection.” After staying weeks in Maryland, she’d been relocated to Georgia, and weeks later, was now in upstate New York. She’d changed names as well, and was now Samira Michelson, housewife and expectant mother.
After she’d told Dr. Hassad she was ready, Jezebel had steeled herself for the inevitable, but when the anesthesiologist walked in, and began prepping her to go under, she’d stopped them. She couldn’t. Even with every reason as to why she should swirling in her mind, Jezebel just…couldn’t. Yes, her life was unstable, and less than ideal, but women gave birth to healthy, happy babies in worse conditions daily. The child had done nothing wrong, and though she wasn’t the most maternal, Jezebel realized she wanted him. It had nothing to do with Ramsey, and everything to do with her. This was her baby, an innocent child created unexpectedly, and while she considered herself Pro-Choice and a die-hard feminist, she couldn’t go through with it.
She’d gone to the clinic to remove a fetus; she’d left with a prescription for prenatal vitamins.
“Look, why don’t we just ask Samira since technically, she’s going to be eating most of it?” Jezebel’s head whipped up at her most recent name, and she saw Brandon look from her face to her hands and sigh. He put the container of peanut butter back and grabbed two of the largest ones. “Jif or store brand?”
“Or Skippy?” With a smirk, Delilah held up a large container of her favorite peanut butter.
“Skippy.”
“Told you,” Delilah murmured, tossing the peanut butter into their shopping cart. “And did you just call my sister fat?” She hissed it so loudly Jezebel was certain the other late-night grocery shoppers several aisles over heard her.
“I never said anything about fat,” Brandon retorted with a scowl. For a mostly even-tempered male, Brandon lost it in seconds when dealing with Delilah. “We should get your hearing checked. Obviously, you’re going prematurely deaf.”
Shaking her head, Jezebel returned her attention to the pickles. She’d always heard people complaining about strange, borderline disgusting, pregnancy cravings, and she’d never understood it until now. Pickles were delicious. Dill pickles dipped in peanut butter or even ketchup and mustard, made her happy. There had been days, bad days, when she’d sat in her armchair, a throw across her body, staring into dying embers at her fireplace and thinking back on just how much she’d given up. She’d lost so much for a man who didn’t love her, had never loved her. Despite the sadness, and slight depression, having a pickle dipped in peanut butter would instantly make her feel better.
It probably had more to do with the baby’s wants than hers, Jezebel thought with a little smile. She’d never really contemplated having children before learning she was pregnant, but whenever Jezebel thought about the child in her
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