Sight Unseen by Anonymous

Author:Anonymous
Language: eng
Format: epub
Tags: Anthology, Romance
Publisher: Open Ink Press LLC
Published: 2017-05-09T16:00:00+00:00

Chapter 7

Wren

It was a dumb thing really, but the stuff that changed your life often was. I was closing up the office when three fat raindrops hit me in the forehead plunk, plunk, plunk. I grimaced and examined the sky. Clouds stretched in every direction, the bottoms flat and black like tar spilled on the road. The radio had been making noises about rain all day, and it was like for once they hadn’t lied.

I reopened the door, fighting with the lock the whole time, and then wrenched open my desk drawers one after another. No umbrella. I checked Brad’s desk, but he didn’t have one either.

I hadn’t seen him since I’d dropped him back at the office after our kiss the day before. He’d taken off, and I’d been grateful to have some space. It had been one hell of a kiss, and I had wanted to climb him, but he made me feel giggly. I didn’t have time to be giggly, not now.

I locked the door again and weighed my options. It was still just spitting. I could run to my car and drive home. What if the sky opened on the way? I couldn’t get too soaked running up to the house.

Yeah . . . but I might as well look in the clubhouse first. There was no need to get wet if I didn’t have to.

It was deserted. Dad had gone to Uncle Paul’s for dinner and taken Zack and the rest of the guys with him. A few coats hung on the pegs by the door, but there were no umbrellas. I looked behind the bar and then opened the door to the storage closet.

Inside were several huge boxes. Jesus, the guys went through a lot of booze.

The tape on the tops had been cut, but someone had folded the cardboard together to keep the lid closed. I pried one corner from beneath another and opened it up. The bottles—whisky, tequila, vodka—were on their sides over a layer of nudie magazines. Jesus Christ, that was just cliché.

And they were into some tacky ass shit. I lifted one bottle up and moved the magazine beneath it to see what else might be in here. It was a big box. The magazines covered a layer of straw. I fished inside and when I felt something hard wrapped in plastic and duct tape, I pulled it out. It was the size of a book, and weighed about two pounds. It was filled with small crystals. I set it down quickly and muttered a curse under my breath.

I reached inside the box again and pulled out several more packages: another of crystals, one filled with small yellow pills, and another of white powder.

“Shit, shit, shit, motherfucker.”

I wanted it to be weed. Why couldn’t it be weed?

I stood there staring at the packages for a minute, but I wasn’t wearing gloves. I wiped them as best as I could with my shirt, shoved them back into the hay, slid the magazine back on top, and replaced the booze.

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