Free Objective: (Bloodlines Book 2) by K Larsen Page B

screech. “What the hell are you doing here anyways?!”
    “I was passing the lot and saw your car still here. You were just staring off into space. I wanted to make sure everything was alright.” I sigh and shake my head at him.
    “I’m fine. When are you going to learn to just leave me alone?” I snit.
    “I’m thick-headed and pretty stubborn, so it could be a while, a long while,” he smirks and rubs his palm over his chin stubble.
    “Right. Okay, well, I’m going home now,” I stammer, and unlock the driver’s door. He watches as I fold into the seat and slam the door shut. I start the car up, throw her in reverse and peel out of the parking lot, fuming. Why is he always around and why the hell won't he just leave me alone already?
    I skip my nightly drink outside in favor of curling up on my couch and texting Aster. She’s surely asleep at this time but I know it will make her smile to wake up and see a message from me.
    I miss your ugly mug so bad. <3
    I pick up my Kindle and dive into the world of Stella, my new favorite fictional woman, from By A Thread . I want to be more like her. I want to be strong and smart and cunning. Moreover, I really just want to be a badass who doesn’t mind cussing and who drinks all the time.

     
    Chapter 7
“Life is such a glorious trauma, is it not?”- J.R. Ward
    I wake with my Kindle dead on my chest, still curled up on the couch. As I’m stretching away my aches from sleeping oddly, I get the strangest idea. Post office boxes. I could rent out boxes in different towns and sign up for junk mail to go there. It might buy me more time from Ezra. Like a bird dog on a scent I pop open the laptop and hop on the USPS website. Within the hour I have three new addresses in different states under Cypress White, and I managed to apply for credit cards and have the bills sent to the different P.O. boxes. Maybe it will throw him off just long enough for me to develop some sort of plan. The light on my phone pulses on and off. I check it to find a new text from Aster.
    My mug IS worth missing. Talk today? xoxo
    She never was shy or humble. I snicker to myself and reply that I’ll call her in a few hours when I’ve had my coffee. As the coffee pot brews I hop in the shower and let the hot water stream down over me. I lather the shampoo into my long locks and let the scent fill the tiny bathroom. By the time I’m finished the bathroom is a wall of fog. I wrap my towel around me and open the door to let the steam out. I quickly do a scan of all the monitors on the wall. Nothing moves outside the immediate area of my trailer. All’s quiet, just the way I like it. I throw on yoga pants and a long sleeve shirt and head out to the kitchen, not bothering to tame my wet hair. I flick on the radio on my way to grab a mug from the cabinet. Ironically ZZ Ward’s Put The Gun Down is on. I can’t help but laugh at the irony. I turn it way up. I also can't help but start to move along to the upbeat tune. Before I know it I’m full on dancing as I pour coffee into my mug. I dance to the fridge for the creamer, add some to my coffee and then put it away, still dancing. Careful not to spill my precious caffeine, I hold it out to my right and swing my kitchen door open with my left hand. Not only did I do it with dramatic flair, I swished my hips and sang the chorus out loud. I can’t sing. Never could. As I saunter down my three steps to the Adirondack chairs I continue my happy little indulgence. I for a moment feel completely content. Normal. Almost... happy.
    “What’s the happy dance for?” As always Bentley appears out of nowhere, scaring the ever living crap out of me. My precious coffee spills all over the front of me. I turn slowly and glare at him.
    “Honestly, a little warning would be useful.” I gesture to the spilled coffee on my shirt. His eyes sparkle with amusement and it irritates me.
    “You’re so angry all the time. You know that?” he muses.
    “Maybe it’s just