"Thirty seconds. That's all you have to stop the bullshit, or your son is dead."
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Six years ago, Chelsea Doherty lost everything when her husband disappeared without a trace and left her to clean up his past. Now living in Ireland, she has piec...
This chapter is dedicated to dajoseph01 . The Shadow in Her Eyes is a inciting mix of Burn Notice x Leave No Trace, mixed with mesmerizing imagery and a strong narrator who also happens to be a great father. Highly recommended, so check it out.
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Warning: This chapter includes a 🌶️🌶️🌶️🌶️ scene which will be marked within the text. Feel free to skip.
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Baltray, Ireland
June 2024
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I wake up in a strange bed in an unfamiliar room, still dressed in clothes that reek abhorrent. A nasty-sour taste in my mouth makes me fear the worst.
What the fuck happened?
Closing my eyes, I sift through my last memories.
Anton and I leaving the Burger King at the rest stop, him holding his phone under my nose with a picture of a recent purchase. "Look what I got us."
"Is that a fucking sex swing?" I squinted at the email confirmation and decked him before he had a chance to reply.
Slamming my fist into his eye felt fucking good.
Something that was long overdue.
He threw a couple of punches, likely more out of reflex, and was overly sorry when my nose bled by the truckload.
Fuck him.
I grin. While he was running back into the Burger King to get napkins, I left his pathetic ass.
It was as if a chip fell off my shoulder. A victory after a long, tiresome battle. I was fucking free of his constant whining.
The pressure on my bladder forces me out of bed; there's a small ensuite bathroom that takes care of business. After I leak enough piss to fill a well, I rummage through the cabinets. Whoever lives here is a pretty damn good host; I find a toothbrush still wrapped in its original packaging, toothpaste, a neutral deodorant, liquid cream soap that smells a little like peppermint, and body lotion for sensitive skin. Lots of towels, too, so everything I need. Discarding the disgustingly smelling clothes and rinsing off under a stream of hot water is like a salvation; after a few good belches and brushing my teeth, I re-arrive among the living. Now all I need is a gallon of water and my collision with alcohol will be a thing of the past.
Staring into the mirror above the sink, I frown. My face is fucked up with a huge bruise almost completely covering one cheek, though my nose is surprisingly straight as if someone already set it. Anton will have to do some major groveling to even stay on as my number two. I'm so sick of him and his know-what's-best-for-Bastian approach.
