Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74227 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 371(@200wpm)___ 297(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Once I arrived at the door, I was covered from head-to-toe.
Why, you ask, was I covered from head-to-toe while inside my place that was probably eighty-five degrees?
Because Harold was a fucking sicko.
He took every possible chance he could to leer at my body, and when he didn’t have that, he touched me.
I’d rather a touch than a leer, though. At least at this point.
Nothing was overly inappropriate…yet.
“Harold,” I smiled at him. “How can I help you?”
Harold was angry. That I could tell within the first twenty seconds.
“You didn’t mow the lawn to the required length for the HOA.”
The HOA.
If I never heard those letters again in my life, it’d be too soon.
The HOA—better known as the homeowner's association—was meant to be something that kept a neighborhood beautiful by enforcing a set of rules every homeowner agreed to upon moving into their new home.
I should know. In my previous life, I’d been on my community’s HOA board. Along with a few other people, one of those including my ex-husband.
Mainly the only thing we got bent out of shape for was when abandoned cars were left out in the open for people to stare at or when a lawn became overgrown.
This stupid bullshit that Harold was always spouting?
Today, it was the lawn—which I’d mowed yesterday, thanks to my other neighbor who let me borrow his lawnmower if I mowed his side, too.
Yesterday, it’d been because I’d planted purple flowers.
Purple. Flowers.
Yes, you heard that correctly. Purple fucking flowers.
Apparently, the color purple wasn’t an approved color for the HOA and our community.
Stupid prick.
He’d been the one to tell me that my yard wasn’t decorated, and that I’d get a fine of fifty dollars if I didn’t have some ‘ornamentation’ by the weekend.
Then, when I’d planted that ornamentation, he’d told me that color wasn’t allowed.
What in the actual fuck? Was he on some power trip or something?
Though, that wasn’t the worst thing about him.
Not only was he my landlord, and harassing me by using the HOA, but he was also the same man who ‘lost’ my car payment.
Which was complete bullshit. I had pawned the last thing that I owned of any value to my name—my grandmother’s wedding ring—netting me thirty-five hundred dollars. With that money, I then went to the bank and got a cashier’s check and walked it straight to Harold’s office.
He’d, of course, found it, but not before he ordered my car to be repossessed. Again.
Fucker.
I hated him, and I wanted nothing more than to punch him in his stupid ugly face.
But I couldn’t.
Because this was my new beginning. This was the place that I could hide out from my ex-husband—a man who was scarier than all others, including this piece of shit.
So, I’d deal with Harold. I’d deal with the stupid HOA giving me stupid fines for something that didn’t matter. And I’d deal with my car.
Because it was either that, or I was dead.
And I didn’t want to be dead.
I’d tried it once. It wasn’t for me.
Chapter 4
I’m that person who can’t speak a single sentence without swearing.
-Baylor to his brother
Baylor
I glared at Harold.
“Listen, motherfucker,” I said to the little prick that was standing on my lawn with a fucking ruler in his hand. “I mowed yesterday. It ain’t gonna get no shorter. You can either fuck off, or I’ll fuck you up.”
Which I would accomplish by shoving that goddamn ruler up his ass.
“You’re the second person that I’ve had to fine today,” he said. “She said the same thing. But rules are rules. You signed the HOA contract just like I did.”
Actually, I hadn’t.
I’d scribbled something on the line that resembled a line with a curly twist at the end. I wasn’t going to sign that shit.
If I wanted to paint my house fucking pink, then I’d paint it fucking pink.
The same went for the stupid purple flowers that my mother had planted.
Which, might I add, were still planted around my mailbox and looking quite awesome, if I said so myself.
“And I know we told you last week about the flowers, but if you don’t remove them, they’ll be removed for you.”
I narrowed my eyes at the little fat prick.
“You take those flowers out of my yard, you’ll regret it.”
Harold stood up and crossed his arms over his pudgy belly.
“Maybe,” he drawled. “Or maybe I won’t.”
I knew what he was thinking. He was the only banker in town. Everyone and their brother had their shit at his bank.
I wasn’t scared, though.
All of my shit was paid off, house included.
Though, my brothers still had their shit through Hostel First Bank and Trust.
Likely he was thinking he could get at me through them—like the little turd he was—but he couldn’t.
I’d pay their shit off, too, if I had to.
See, two years ago, I was nearly killed by a drunk driver. That drunk driver just happened to be the little boy of a billionaire, and that billionaire had not only paid all my medical bills, but he’d also given me enough money to make sure that I would never have another want or need in this life. He did that in the form of a six-million-dollar payment and a promise to help me in any way, shape, or form should I ever need it. Anytime, anywhere.