The Biker’s Bunny by Glenna Maynard EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Author: Glenna Maynard
- Language: English
- Formats: PDF / EPUB
- Status: Available for Download
- Genre: Mashup Fiction, Contemporary Romance
- Price: Free
- File Size: 2 MB
The Past
“Be good, mi hijo. Watch your hermano,” my mother whispers, softly. Her
palm caresses the top of my head. The scent of lavender washes over me as
she leans down to kiss my forehead, then Benicio’s. My baby brother.
“¿Cuándo vuelves?” I question when she’ll return. I stare past her and out
the window. The orange glow of the pole light signals that it’s nighttime.
She does this often. Leaves us alone in the middle of the night to go to
work.
“Te prometo que volveré pronto.” Soon, she promises. She pats my head,
leaving us alone in a roach infested motel room. It’s not the first time or the
last. The muscles of my stomach tighten and clench as the deep growl of
hunger roars. My brother and I were put to bed hungry. It’s nothing new. I
chew the inside of my cheek, debating whether or not I want to risk waking
Beni. He can’t help it, but my brother is a crybaby. Always whining for
food or for me to play with him.
Things weren’t so bad till he came along. I didn’t go as hungry, and we
had a nicer motel room. It’s not his fault. Though sometimes I hate him for
The Past
existing. I get stuck having to care for him.
The hunger pangs deepen, and I scowl at Beni as he sleeps peacefully,
unaware that Mom can’t afford to feed us. He at least got milk earlier. All
that was left for me was some tap water out of the bathroom sink.
Sometimes Mom hides crackers. She says we can’t keep much here, or the
roaches will get in it. I told her she should move us to a better place, and
she backhanded me.
Sometimes she gets me cereal from the food pantry. Except it’s always
stale and old.
I hate it here.
Mom’s been gone two days and Beni won’t stop crying. Someone keeps
knocking at our door, but Mom told me not to open it for anyone but her. I
don’t know what to do. I’m scared. I wish she’d come back.
I wrap my arms around my brother, begging him to be quiet.
I tried
turning the volume up on the Tv to drown out his cries, but that only made
him worse. I rock him back and forth the best I can like Mom did when he
was smaller and fussing all the time. I’m not as successful in my attempt.
The voices outside our door grow louder. Someone’s shouting and
beating the door so hard the window rattles as though it may break. The
door opens and some greasy dude who works here stares at my brother and
me with pity in his eyes.
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