Page 31 of Kid
If I was to be honest, I’d admit I didn’t trust her either.
There were other things in my life which caused me to lose my trust in my mother over the years. But in this scenario, for the purposes of Kid’s car, there were all new facts. The fact she was the only one who knew he was helping me find Jeremy burned a hole in my brain.
It only seemed fair my mother had something to do with his toy being damaged.
I tried standing up for her, but Kid’s rage silenced me.
A part of me was still holding out hope that Kid was wrong.
That same part of me wanted to believe my mother had changed. But the other half of me knew there was no chancing that woman.
She wanted what she wanted and to hell with everyone else.
She didn’t care who she hurt.
No one had to tell me my mother had gotten off easy so far.
If she’d been anyone else, Kid would have strangled her with his bare hands already. I believed the only reason he told me to talk to her, was because she was my mother, and he was trying to do the right thing.
Though I was very sure I would get nothing out of my mother, I called a cab. I knew her very well—and when she was offended, she tended to close up and start screaming. But I wasn’t in the mood for her attitude, because I was pretty sure Kid could burn her world to the ground.
Wondering how I’d gotten myself into this mess, I dropped the small canister into the side pocket of my purse and hurried outside to wait for the taxi.
Taking a moment to look up and down the street, I scrambled into the backseat of the taxi and gave him my mother’s address. I wasn’t sure how I would even bring that conversation up with mama.
Even if I had the perfect words, she would still have lied to me.
I tapped around on my phone, trying to get Kid to message me back.
Nothing happened—I looked up and arched a brow.
Glancing behind us, I tilted my head and checked out the places we were passing.
I recognized where I was, and it wasn’t the right direction. I stuck my hand into the bag and wrapped my fingers around the canister.
“You’re going the wrong way.” I told the driver.
“It’s a shortcut.”
“No—this isn’t a shortcut. You’re going the wrong way! Pull over!”
The driver merely locked the doors and sped up. Afraid, I banged on the glass then realized that wouldn’t do anything to help my situation.
Even if someone saw me trying to get out, there wasn’t much of anything they could do.
No, I was on my own.
I couldn’t panic.
A strong woman wouldn’t panic.
Kid’s woman wouldn’t panic.
What would Chelsea and Jia do?
They’d managed to kick some bad-guy’s ass to get home to their men. I wasn’t going to be the one getting killed by some asshole cab driver.
Irefusedto become a statistic.
