Danville Horror: A Pat Wyatt Novel (The Pat Wyatt Series Book 3) Read Online Free PDF Page B

out for your best interest.”
    “Bullshit,” I hissed. “You just didn’t want to do the job because our truce is over.”
    “I assure you, I—”
    “You know what, Samuel?” I interrupted him. “I don’t care what you have to say. You lie through your fangs anyway. Goodbye!” I hung up, throwing my phone back in my bag. So much for keeping my best friend safe. Now she was going to be pulled into this mess, and it was all my fault. I felt like crying.
    Someone knocked. “Patricia,” Cindy said from the other side, “is everything okay in there?”
    I got up, opening the door to see her in her silk robe and slippers. “I’m fine. Thanks for asking, Cindy.” I truly meant it. It had been a long time since another human being had asked me if I was okay, and it felt good.
    “You’re welcome,” she responded with a slight smile. “If you need anything, anything at all, don’t hesitate to ask.”
    I smiled back. “Thanks. Oh, and Cindy?” She had begun to walk away but turned back around when I called to her. “Thank you for keeping my room like this. It means so much to me.”
    “You’re very welcome. And I hope one day that we can become friends.”
    I looked at her for a second, seeing something I hadn’t seen before. She was not a bimbo after all, but a kind, gentle, and genuine person. Her eyes seemed to be so sincere that they shamed me. “Me too, Cindy,” I finally said. “Me too.” And I will remember the smile I’d brought to her face for the rest of my life.

chapter
    FOUR
    I tossed and turned the rest of the night. My body and mind just wouldn’t rest. All I kept thinking about was Tina being in danger, Mike being named Alpha, and what kind of dress Cindy was going to have me wear. So around five in the morning, I decided enough was enough, and I got up.
    I pulled on a pair of gray sweats, which was the first thing on top in my green bag, and decided to go downstairs. As I walked out of my bedroom, the smell of the coffee hit me, and I knew Pops was up. Walking down the steps careful not to jostle my wounds, I made it to the last step and sighed, relieved that I didn’t fall flat on my face. Turning left, I made my way down the hall and through the arch into the kitchen/dining area. There Pops was, making his usual five in the morning breakfast and coffee before he headed off to work. I blinked back tears as I imaged my mother walking up behind him, giving him a hug. This was not the time to cry. Actually, the time to cry was never. That’s what Pops always taught me, but sticking to it was harder than I thought. I mean, there was a time I could do that, feel nothing, but that time had since past and, frankly, I really missed it.
    “Hey, Pops,” I said, and he turned to face me, his blue eyes looking tired. In fact, if I was being honest, he looked exhausted. Even his silver hair looked almost white in the dim light. I stopped dead in my tracks, he had frightened me so. “What’s wrong?”
    “Happy New Year to you too, baby girl,” he deflected with a harsh smile.
    “Happy New Year,” I replied, not getting off the subject. “And you didn’t answer my question.”
    “Nothing’s wrong, baby girl,” he reassured me. “Absolutely nothing.”
    I wasn’t buying it. “Could I have a cup?” I asked, walking up to the kitchen table and sitting down.
    He nodded, getting a mug out of the cabinet above the median, which sort of separated the kitchen from the dining area. Pouring the coffee, he fully smiled at me, but it didn’t reach his eyes. Pops was only fifty-six, but suddenly he looked about twenty years older. When he was done pouring, he walked back over to the table, placing the mug in front of me while he sat.
    “Thanks,” I said as I took a sip of the bitter, strong coffee. I always feel that people like their coffee to fit their personalities, and the coffee my father makes fits him to a T.
    “You’re welcome, baby girl.”
    When he looked down at his hands, I