Page 33 of The Coldest: Stay Dangerous Part 2

I chuckle as I hear her wash her hands, and meet her at the door. She follows me like a lil’ kid until we get to another door, and I open it for her.

“You can sleep here for now. I’ll have your clothes moved to this room. Breakfast is at sunrise, which is in a couple hours–”

“Say less.” Snow walks past me and collapse facefirst onto the duvet.

I roll my eyes. “I’m keeping this door unlocked, but I’m telling you now, ain’t no one gon’ help you escape, but they will kill you if you try to kill me.”

She doesn’t answer, and a few seconds later, snoring filters through her room.

I pull the door closed, and ignore a grinning Fredo as I go and climb into my own bed.

Before sleep takes me, I turn and face my own bedroom mirror, at this fuck ass eye patch.

We really not identical anymore.

“No,” I answer aloud. “I guess not.”

Wyn

I probably should tell Rico I didn’t actually fuck Pooh.

But that nigga fucked Porscha, so I’ma let him be in his feelings for a while.

Especially when my night terror has been a gaggle of Kenton hoes pointing and laughing at me for falling in love with community dick.

One of the laughs sounds like it’s coming from a kid. Then, one of these hoes has the nerve to actually touch me, poking my shoulder.

My eyes burst open, and muted light from the sunset casts orange light on a little boy, his finger poised to poke me again.

His eyes were trained on his finger, before they dart to me, and his smile brightens.

Fuzzy plaits that go to his shoulders cover his head. His fingers are grubby, probably covered in whatever dark substance is in a ring around his lips.

“Don’t–”

He pokes me anyway, a squeal of laughter erupting before he crawls backwards off the bed.

Whose baby is this?

But that’s a dumb question. He looks exactly like the dumbass who fucked my best friend.

My heart, or what’s left of it after last night, shatters just a bit more, the remnants raining down to my ass.

Rico has a son. Of course.

“Are you up?” the little boy asks.

I sit up and wipe the sleep out of my eyes. My body is sore and stiff in places that it shouldn’t be. My hand burns with movement, the soiled bandage probably sticking to healed scabs.

“You’ve been sleep all day,” he whines, climbing back onto the bed. “I’ve been waiting all day for you to get up!”

I clear my throat. “What time is it?”

He sits up and scratches his head. “It’s dinner time. Nan told me to see if you were up. She told me not to wake you, but you’ve been sleep all day. Nan says that’s bad.”

I pull back the covers and get up. My mouth is so dry, and my tummy grumbles at the sound of dinner.

The little boy follows me into the ensuite. All my toiletries are in the bathroom, so I brush my teeth and throw some cold water on my face.