Uncaged Love: Volume 6 (Uncaged Love #6) by JJ Knight Read Free Book Online Page B

it occurs to me that this was exactly how the night Colt and I got shot began. They broke out the headlamp of Colt’s Harley. Does nobody do anything original for intimidation?
    Not that it is going to work on me. Pretty much nothing scares me anymore, not after what we have already survived.
    I go back to Mom’s dining table while she washes dishes. She’s already waved off my help, saying she needs to do something domestic to calm herself down. With the time it takes her to rinse out a few salad bowls, I’m guessing they might be clean enough to hold surgical instruments.
    I have no intention of telling her what went down at the boxing match with me and the spectators. I’m still not sure myself. My hurricane seems like it has gone back to its old state, before Colt, before training, when I was uncontrolled and unexpectedly violent. Like a storm.
    I wish Colt were here. For a moment, I wrap myself up in the misery that I ended up alone here in Hawaii to wait out the wedding. I sit there brooding so long that I’m startled when Mom sits down next to me and covers my fidgety hands with hers.
    “Worried about the wedding?” she asks.
    Actually, that’s a whole new wrinkle in the ceremony, if those punks show up. But I don’t think that’s what she’s asking.
    “Not really,” I say. “You all seem to have it under control. I just have to show up in the dress, right?” I imagine the jerks shredding my Audrey Hepburn gown and cringe.
    Mom misinterprets my expression. “Would you like to go over the plans? It seemed like you wanted me and Zandalee to handle the details.”
    “No, I want you to do it. I really do,” I say quickly. “You guys will come up with something way better than I would.”
    She picks up one of my hands and peers at it. “You been doing some hard training?”
    I look down. My knuckles are swollen, and I have several cuts. I hadn’t even noticed. “It’s always tough,” I say. “Akoni’s bags are different from mine. I have to adjust.”
    I swallow at the lie. But I can’t worry her. I’ll figure out how to handle these boys when I can get alone with Hudson and figure out who they are.
    I have something else I want to talk to Mom about. “You remember that first day we saw each other, and you told me you used to fly into rages when you were a girl? That you broke some boy’s ribs?”
    She lets go of my hands. “Yes, I remember.”
    “How did it stop? I mean, you’re so calm now. When did it go away?”
    Mom pulls the salt and pepper shakers across the table and absently wipes the tops with her dishcloth. “I removed myself from situations where I might get triggered,” she says. “I guess when you get old enough, you have enough life experience that less gets to you. You can handle things logically rather than overreacting.”
    I sense there is a lot more to her story than she is telling. “Did it get worse before it got better?”
    She pushes the salt and pepper away and flattens her hands on the table as if it’s difficult to keep control of them. Her long earrings swing below her upswept hair. “I have managed to avoid anything that would get to me. Living here helps.” She looks around her kitchen and I follow her gaze. Colorful curtains, painted walls, ceramic plates hanging on wire racks. Everywhere your eyes land is something cute or bright.
    She’s surrounded herself with happy things.
    “Do you date anybody?” I ask her.
    She stiffens. “No. That’s exactly the sort of thing I have to avoid.” She stands up, as if signaling she won’t talk about this anymore.
    I get it. I won’t push.
    “So, do you like cleaning houses?” I ask. “We could help if you wanted to go to school, learn to do something.”
    “I’m not proud,” she says. “Cleaning houses is good honest work.” She stands up and walks around the room, touching various bits of art on her walls. “It gives you a real sense of accomplishment when you take something that needs attention