Gut Rot and Gargoyles: A Paranormal Women's Fiction Novel (Trailer Park Vampire Book 3) by J.R. Rain & H.P. Mallory

Author:J.R. Rain & H.P. Mallory [Rain, J.R. & Mallory, H.P.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Rain Press
Published: 2023-02-17T00:00:00+00:00

Chapter Twelve

“We’re late!” I shouted over the racket I was making as I darted around the trailer.

Clothes spilled from the basket on the couch as I raced past it, making Bubba jump in his crate. He whined while pawing at the door. It wasn’t locked. He just knew better than to get in my way at the moment.

Dirty dishes piled in the sink. Laundry lay unfolded on the couch—well, it was on the floor now that my hip had knocked it over. And then there was that mess of binders, books, and homework on the table that Sicily needed to clear.

There was just too much to do and not enough time to do it.

Sicily hopped out of her room while fixing her hair. “Do I look okay, Mama? How’s this? Ribbons or no ribbons?”

She tied a bow into her ponytail with a red ribbon.

“Great, honey,” I said while brushing past her. “Let me just—oof!”

I tripped right over one of Bubba’s many chew toys and hit the ground before I could even stop it from happening. Sicily gasped and ran into the room. I rolled to my back and rubbed my elbow, grumbling at the carpet for being so rude. Though my skin was red and irritated, it would heal up by the time we got to Branson.

That was the nice part about being the not-so-undead. I healed quicker than anyone else on the planet. While other post-foggers could fly or jump to a second-story window without breaking a sweat, I could heal my wounds in just about a day. Give me a few bottles of deer blood and a solid twelve hours of sleep and it was like I hadn’t ever gotten hurt at all.

Perks were great. Drawbacks? Not so much.

Which was what made me so dang nervous about leaving Windy Ridge today.

A knock echoed from the front door. Bubba barked. My head started pounding with the extra racket and the fall I’d just taken and all the stress. And the sun. Another day when I was out and about and I couldn’t say I was happy about it. This time, though, well—this was an excursion that was desperately needed and a long time coming.

I let my head fall back and groaned.

Sicily stood up and sighed. “That’s probably Sheriff Dean. I’ll get it.”

My head snapped up. “Sheriff Dean?”

“Yeah, I asked him to drive us there.”

“I thought we were taking Slim Jim’s truck.”

Don’t get me wrong. I was excited not to ride in that rickety old hunk of junk which was littered with mason jars and semi-pornographic materials from that swimsuit magazine Slim Jim loved to read so much, but having Dean drive us to Branson to meet Alton was simply out of the question.

Until Dean strutted inside the trailer like he was a heavyweight wrestling champion, preparing for his next match. And boy, did he look good doing it. Not that I was noticing because I wasn’t. Not one bit.

I let my head drop again, cursing the carpet and its roughness for the third time today.

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