If I Should Die: A Kimber S. Dawn MC Novel Read Online Free Page A

crackers and bags of chips I had, I saddled myself down with all my duffle bags and headed down one of the back roads towards the bus station. I slipped a twenty-dollar bill in my pocket before I left the house and hid the rest of my cash in my shoe, mainly on purpose to keep it from falling out of my little pocket. But the extra hidden factor and split up maneuver made it sheer genius. It also made it easier to count out the money I owed when it came time to pay the Circle-K cashier for my bottles of water. Once I was loaded down with as much as I could carry, I made my way into the bus station.
    Now, I didn’t know if my momma was in New York. But what I did know was that there wasn’t anything left in Chicago for me…at least not anymore.
    After little thought and even less debate, I decide to buy a ticket for the bus departing for New York City at 2:15. That’s forty-five minutes ahead of Donna’s schedule. Which gives me a little more than an hour and a half to waste. After picking up some socks from an Eckerd’s across the street, and an extra toothbrush and some toothpaste, I went through my bags one last time and meticulously packed each one of my belongings away before loading everything up on my arms and my back, and heading back into the bus station.
    After settling down on a bench next to lost baggage, I glance up at the big clock on the wall and read the time. Thirty more minutes and I’m out of this town. I have butterflies and nervous knots all at the same time. And for a second, I think the butterflies are going to win out…then the knots tighten and kill them all. My palms are sweaty and the dang heels of my navy Chucks keep tapping against the floor. I’m only somewhat aware of how anxious I look when I begin to rub my hands down the front of my skirt for the hundredth time and I pull my already chewed up lower lip between my teeth.
    “Vagabond?” I hear a boy’s voice from my past, and my eyes—wide as saucers, I’m sure—land on his when I snap my head up.
    “Jacques?” I whisper, probably looking as though I’m seeing a ghost. Because I am. I am. This guy can’t know how many times I’ve thought about him. How many times my silly little eight, nine, ten, and eleven-year-old mind changed the way our story played out and ended.
    And instead of going back to where Mildred and the other social workers and parents were at that day in the park, I was stopped. Stopped by Jacques. He can’t know how many times in my daydreams and during the intermission of my nightmares he asked me to hop in his truck. And instead of going back to Donna’s with my tail tucked between my legs, I went off to places unknown with the dark-haired boy with a driver’s license from New York, New York.
    “Well, how’s it hanging, Vagabond? Upgraded to bus stations, I see? Not bad. Not bad, kid.” He squats down on his haunches, putting us nose to nose, and winks. “Really kinda hoped you’d be doing better than this. You hungry? I got some extra cash. Wanna go grab a bite?”
    It takes me several seconds, but I do find my composure, somewhere during his spiel. The only downside is, I wasn’t paying attention to what he was saying. Something about eating. I think.
    “I’m—no.” I pat my bag, fuming at myself for fumbling over my words. “I have stuff in my bag. This isn’t my first rodeo, okay, cowboy? I don’t need your help.” I glare at him, completely uncertain where this new animosity I have for him sprung from. Hormones. I almost growl. Almost. I read the sign directly above his head and smirk. “What? Did you lose your bag? Again?” I tsked at him and when he looks over his shoulder, then back at me, obviously a little more than pissed, I begin to chuckle.
    “No, you little pipsqueak. I didn’t. My bus just dropped me off, actually.” He glances down at his watch. “And I have to be at a meeting, like right now. So—” He looks back up at me then holds out his hands for me to grab.