Total pages in book: 118
Estimated words: 111986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 111986 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 373(@300wpm)
Tanner and the girls were gathered around the bistro table near the window; it had become their spot. Tanner, as usual, was flicking through a newspaper, but Harper knew he was fully aware of everything going on around him.
Finally reaching the front of the line, Harper smiled at the barista. “Morning.”
“Good morning. I placed your usual order as soon as I spotted you – it should be ready by now.” It was something the she-demon often did, since they always ordered the same things.
“Thank you.” Harper handed her the money and, after placing her change in the tip jar, headed to the end of the counter. There, another barista was placing cups on a tray. This particular she-demon, Wren, reminded Harper of one of her cousins – she was bright, ditsy, and extremely quirky.
She smiled at Harper. “Got your order right here.” She placed one of the cups in Harper’s hand. “Try this instead of a latte.”
Harper sniffed. “What is it?”
“Just frothed vanilla milk.”
“But I love my lattes.” Harper was ashamed to say she almost whined that.
“I know, but spice is the variety of life… or whatever.” Her brow creased in concern as she added, “I heard about the attack. How are you?”
Harper wasn’t surprised that the news was getting around. The demonic grapevine worked at a seriously fast speed. “I’m fine, thanks. I’ll feel even better if you give me my latte.”
Wren smiled. “Not scared of a little milk, are you?”
Harper felt her lips quirk. “You can be weird sometimes, you know.”
Wren’s eyes twinkled. “Maybe we’re twins.”
Harper laughed. “Maybe.” A whistle made her look over her shoulder. Devon was stood at the condiment trolley, tapping her watch impatiently. Harper rolled her eyes and turned back to Wren. “I’ll try the damn milk.” She took a cautious sip. Harper had always been a caramel girl, but the frothed vanilla tasted super good. Even better, it seemed to soothe her burning tongue. Still, Harper made a put-out huff. “Fine, I’ll take it.”
Wren chuckled. “You’re welcome.”
“Yeah, yeah.” Lifting the tray, Harper headed to Devon, who then quickly helped her add sugar, milk, and other toppings to the drinks.
“I’ll carry the tray,” said Devon. “You waited in the line.”
Fine with that, Harper turned… and almost bumped right into none other than Carla. Well, fuck a freaking duck.
Her inner demon hissed, having no time or patience for this woman who’d abandoned them. It was the first time Harper had come face to face with her since before Roan’s death. The resentful glitter in her eyes told her that Carla wasn’t there to check that she’d recovered from the hunters’ attack. No surprise there.
Harper was conscious that the chatter had died down and everyone was watching, waiting to see how it would play out. Carla would no doubt be thrilled about that. She did so love being the center of attention… such was the life of a narcissist.
Part of Harper felt sorry for this person who was so emotionally stunted that she was still stuck at the infantile age where her own wants and needs were more important than those of others. Because of the gaping emotional hole inside her, she’d always perpetually seek the attention that she needed just as intensely as an addict needed crack. And Carla’s drug of choice seemed to be sympathy. She was a never-ending victim, and drama made her feel alive somehow. As such, she was milking whatever sympathy she could get for having lost her son.
Maybe Harper’s thoughts should have shown a little more sensitivity to Carla’s current situation. After all, the woman was grieving. But, honestly, Harper didn’t believe that Carla could experience grief the way others did. She just didn’t seem truly capable of forming an emotional connection with anyone. Neither of her sons had a kind word to say about her, which was telling. And loving a person often meant putting them first, and Carla was far too self-absorbed to put anyone before herself.
Tanner was instantly at Harper’s side, his stance protective. There an issue here?
There could be, Harper replied.
“I wouldn’t advise you to say whatever it is that’s going through your mind, Carla,” said Devon. None of the girls had ever liked Carla, particularly Khloë, who insisted on referring to both Harper’s parents as merely her “primary blood relations”.
Carla’s shoulders lifted as she took in a long breath. Apart from their small figure, pointed chin, and dark hair, they didn’t share much resemblance at all. It was something Harper, petty though it might be, was thankful for. “I just want to say one thing.”
Harper doubted she would only say one thing. Carla loved the sound of her own voice.
“Roan… he had his faults,” Carla continued. “He wasn’t perfect by any stretch of the imagination. But he wouldn’t ever have considered being part of some scheme to see the US Primes overthrown. It doesn’t even make sense – he would never have benefitted from it.”