Razing Grace: Part 2 by Amo Jones

Author:Amo Jones [Jones, Amo]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: The Devil’s Own Book 3 The Devil’s Own Book 3
Publisher: Amo Jones
Published: 2017-01-16T18:30:00+00:00

“I GUESS I SHOULD CALL Melissa and tell her I’m back,” I say to Angel, shutting the fridge door and pouring milk into my bowl.

He laughs. “Yeah, you should.” He walks up to me and points down to my belly. “Girl, huh?”

I smile, spooning granola into my mouth. “Mmm-hmm.”

His eyes haven’t moved, so I roll my eyes. “Want to feel the belly?”

He looks up at me. “Can I?” It’s cute, the wonder in his voice. I place his hand over my belly and he grins slowly. “That’s insane.”

“Oh!” I smile, my eyes widening as I look up to him.

“Did she just kick?” He looks down, stunned.

“She did!”

“Damn, that’s cool as hell.”

I smile up at him. “Did you not feel this with Summer?”

His smile drops. “Her mom was a junkie. Summer was three months premature. She barely made it into this world with her life because of her own mother.”

“Oh,” I whisper sadly. “I’m sorry.”

He shrugs, a smile beaming from him again. “Make her do it again!”

We’re both laughing and feeling around for her to kick again, when Raze walks in from his daily run. He pauses, swiping the sweat off his forehead, then looks down to Angel’s hand on my bump. Angel quickly retreats and walks out of the kitchen, with Raze watching him leave.

Spooning another mouthful of granola into my mouth, I say, “You don’t have to do that. I’m glad he’s interested. They’re going to be a big part of her life, Raze.”

He doesn’t say anything, stepping toward the fridge and pulling out a fresh bottle of water, twisting the cap off, and gulping it down. I watch as his Adam’s apple bobs past his swallowing, his eyes remaining on me. Pulling the bottle down, he swipes his mouth with the back of his hand and places the water on the bench.

“What?” I ask. “You’re going to need to talk to me about this one of these days, Raze, and I’d rather you do it before she comes into this world.”

His eyes stay on mine and I cringe inwardly; he’s so damn intense. The ringing doorbell breaks our epic stare-down and he looks toward the front door, pushing off the breakfast bar and walking away in silence.

Going back to my granola, I mutter, “Asshole.” I silently ignore the hushed tones coming from the front door—that is, until I hear a female voice. Sliding off the bar stool, I walk to the threshold of the kitchen and lean on the archway with my arms crossed. The woman on the other side of the door peers around Raze’s frame and catches my eye. I square my shoulders, my body stiffening. Her eyes narrow, and Raze turns his head to look over his shoulder, seeing me there.

I scoff, pushing off the doorjamb. “Seriously?” When Raze doesn’t move and the woman smirks at me, my scowl deepens. She’s wearing a white, ironed suit with her blood red lace bra showing slightly from beneath her jacket, and her perky, but obviously fake, boobs press up to the high heavens.

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