No, fuck no, it did not.
Once again, the feeling of my soul being sucked out of the area by napalm engulfed me, and I screamed my arse off before I collapsed back in a ball on the floor.
Never, ever again. I doubted I had a vagina ever to wax again—and on the off chance that I did, I doubt the hair would ever come back—but I was never putting wax below my neck. In fact, I was probably going to have to move to threading on my eyebrows, too, just in case. I was even going to go as far as throwing out every single candle in my apartment and banning birthday ones for the rest of my life.
Not that I’d ever celebrate my birthday. I doubt I could ever face any of these lot ever again.
The next day…
I was in a fucking awful mood. Not only was I in so much pain that I couldn’t wear knickers, but I’d had to wear a pair of harem pants that I only had for when I was on my period to work.
And to top it off, Dad had called to say they’d been intercepting postcards from home to my apartment for the last five weeks, and no one had told me. Normally hearing postcards would be a good thing because someone was thinking about you, but these were all of West Wickham and only had my name and address on them. With how worried Dad was, I didn’t even ask what they were photos of. Sometimes not knowing kept you sane.
They could only have come from one person, which meant that Orson Riley knew where I lived now.
To be honest, I was tired of it all. I’d moved countries, left my best friends and Nan behind, left my home behind, and it still wasn’t enough. Granted, I’d met amazing people and was closer to Dad and MeeMee, but all of the emotional stress had been for nothing. Now I had a choice–leave and move again, or stay and say fuck-you-very-much.
I was going with the latter, but I’d promised him I’d update the Townsends about what was going on. He thought they were adequate protection for me, but I was doing it for their own safety. I’d seen what Parker had gone through after we’d been taken. If Orson hurt one of them because of me, I don’t think I’d come back from it regardless of what they said.
So, I was walking into work—well, waddling—with a sore crotch, a pissed off mood, and my boobs hurt and were getting bigger, so I was also due on my period while a psychopath sent me fucked up postcards. Happy day to fucking me.
And today, I was working with Lily, Tate, and Levi. This was something I loved about the family. They had a large oil company that they all worked hard for, but their woosah oneness time seemed to come from helping out with other things like Lily and her dad’s bar. They obviously all had private time away from each other, but the family was like a tight-knit unit.
It made me wonder what mine would’ve been like if Mum was still here.
A couple of days ago, I’d remembered one of the things she’d repeated to us frequently. “Laugh, love, and live, my precious babies. That’s how life’s meant to be.”
I needed to get that back into my life, and I’d planned to start by spending more time with my family. My brother, Craig, had called me last week to let me know he was near the States, doing some sort of training with the US Navy. My sister had been in touch as well and had been planning to come and visit me. I’d been so excited about seeing her and my nephew when she’d said it, but after what I’d found out this morning, it was probably better that she kept Wick away from me. I’d speak to Craig and find out if he still wanted to come, though.
I was damaged, and not just my poor fandola.
Dropping my bag off in the office, I made my way slowly to the bar, focused on getting through another day. I refused to think about him and my problems and cooch gave me a good excuse today.
I was just raising the bar flap thing when someone made a choking noise next to me, drawing my attention to a good looking guy with brows I’d give my pubes for and hair that was so perfectly styled, I had follicle envy.
“You’re freakin’ adorable,” he chuckled, looking over at the others and shaking his head. “I see why, now.”
Blinking, I glanced at my bosses and Levi, then back at him. “Do I know you?”
Surely Orson wouldn’t send someone like him after me? And why would he send a guy who had an obvious familiarity with the Townsends?
With a grin that looked relaxed and genuine, he reached his hand out to me. “I’m Jackson, and you must be Sadie.”
Would a kidnapper be so polite and want to shake my hand? Like I could answer that, I didn’t have any experience with the psychology of one.
So, deciding it would be wiser to endear myself to him, I shot him a smile and shook his hand. “That’s right. How do you know these guys?” I nodded my head at Tate and the others, noticing that they’d joined us.
Well, at least I had backup if he grabbed me. Hopefully.
“Uh, Sadie, this is our cousin,” Tate explained, and it all made sense.
“Ah, now it makes sense. Hi again, and welcome. It’s great to meet you. Are you one of the Piersville ones?”
For some reason, this made him frown. “No, I’m not.”
Scanning through the information I remembered about the family, I tried to recall a Jackson. The problem was, there were about a thousand of them, so it wasn’t an easy thing to do, and the stories about them kind of overshadowed the names and relations.
Looking mildly amused, Levi muttered, “Uh, this is Elijah’s—"
“Don’t say that name,” I spat. “We had an unspoken accord that it’d never be mentioned in my presence. In fact, if you’re going to, we need to come up with a signal so I can either make myself scarce or I can cover my ears.”
The brothers’ mouths both twitched at my rant, but Jackson didn’t have that level of control and burst out laughing instead. “Holy shit, she’s fuckin’ awesome. All of that sass in one tiny package.”
Now that pissed me off even more. Crossing my arms over my chest, I shot him a glare. “I’ll have you know that I’m five and a half feet tall.”
The words worked like an off-switch for his laughter, and even Lily tilted her head and looked me up and down like she was measuring me with her eyes.
“I call bullshit,” Jackson finally replied, a smile tilting one side of his mouth up. “There’s no way you’re that tall.”
Straightening to my full—and unimpressive—height, I shot back, “I am.”
“Prove it.”
So, smugly, I pulled a medical card out of my back pocket. Yes, I had insurance through the bar, but I always carried around the policy Dad had gotten for me that covered pretty much everything. When I’d arrived, they’d put me through a long and tedious assessment, then handed me a card with my vitals on it and told me to carry it everywhere just in case. Being used to the National Health Service where I’d get treated no matter what, I’d taken that advice to heart and never went anywhere without it in my pocket or bra.
And that’s how I could prove I was five and a half feet tall because it said so on that card. Unfortunately, it also had my weight on that, but I deducted twenty pounds for my boobs—something I wasn’t going to tell them as all four of them examined it.
“Uh, babe,” Jackson said slowly, looking up at me. “It says your five feet and half an inch tall.”