Total pages in book: 187
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 174623 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 873(@200wpm)___ 698(@250wpm)___ 582(@300wpm)
"And if they brandish a weapon?" Holler asks.
"Put them down," Oracle says without hesitation. "I'd urge you to injure, not kill, but use your discretion. Keep in mind that there are women and children inside who are more than likely witnessing everything you and the visitor do. Safety first, but the last thing we want is a child seeing their father killed. That shit'll eat them alive."
Oracle's eyes meet mine, but I don't feel any kind of way about it. He knows what I'm capable of. Mentioning the kids will make me pause a little longer before making that decision, because I'd never want those kinds of memories to haunt a child because of my choices.
"Any questions?" Oracle asks.
We all shake our heads.
"Mischief and Recon, you're patrolling today. Nyx, you’re on the front. Holler on the back. Meet with last night's guys, get a report, and get to work."
I move toward the front door, dipping my head at Legacy as I approach.
"Calm night," he says. "Kincaid told me to give you this."
I take the device he offers and place the earpiece in my ear. It's tiny and very discreet.
"Anything I should be made aware of?" I ask, wanting to know anything and everything that will make my shift go smoother.
"The little boy inside has still been having nightmares," he says. "He cried and screamed all night. It's fucking heartbreaking to hear."
I pull in another ragged breath, trying not to let my mind carry me back to all the times I woke as a child with tears pouring from my eyes. Those tears stopped the night I killed my father and haven't been back. It only justified my reasoning that I'm having to work through therapy for now.
"Has to be hard for the others in the house," I mutter, ignoring the look of surprise on Legacy’s face for offering something up when I haven't been prompted.
"I think they all take it in stride," he says after he gets over his shock. "Thankfully, school is out for the summer, so both kids can grab a little nap if they need it. No one on the log for visitation today, but Annie heads out to work in about twenty minutes."
"She catches a ride with someone?"
He nods. "A girl from work swings by to grab her. She gets back around six. Overnight will be here at seven to relieve you."
"Thanks, man," I tell him, taking up my position near the front door when he steps away.
"I know it's your first shift. Max is always on comms if you need him or have questions."
I dip my head in understanding.
"Have a good day," I say, seeing him pause as he walks away.
People haven't treated me differently, but apparently, some parts of my reputation traveled from Tennessee without my realizing it.
I keep my eyes moving, paying very little attention to Recon and Mischief as they make their rounds.
I shift my weight over and over as the hours go by, but I never let my mind wander. I know how important this assignment is, even if Oracle hadn't reiterated it on the drive over.
The shift goes by without issue, and as much as a little action would feed parts of me deep inside, I know how traumatizing it can be for the women and children inside to witness it. I know there will come a time when I'm put in a situation like that, but I'm just glad today was uneventful, and I hope my next shift is the same way.
Chapter 6
Juliet
I glance down at my phone, the email from the shelter open.
I know staffing has always been an issue with places like these, but the blanket, impersonal email with an address, date, and appointment time seems a little off-putting.
I don't know that I've ever gotten an email for an interview before. It usually comes with a phone call, but I guess as the world becomes more digital, so does every other process.
I verify the address by pulling up the house on a map app on my phone, but the house the interview is at looks like any other house. It's very possible, I realize as I wash my cereal bowl, that the interview could be held at a different location, but then the house doesn't make much sense.
I guess I won't know until I arrive, I think to myself as I dry my hands, giving the black bag at my back door a glance before heading back into the living room to get my purse and keys.
I wipe my hands down the front of my shirt, making sure I didn't spill anything on me. My clothes aren't designer. I'm wearing practical flats because running in heels, if required, isn't ideal.
I look semi-professional. I'd call it business casual, which I know from working in other women's shelters is a little more dressed up than most of the staff and all the residents, unless their jobs require a different style of clothing. I don't want to look out of place, but I also don't want to present myself as if I don't care about this job either.