Total pages in book: 125
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122074 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 610(@200wpm)___ 488(@250wpm)___ 407(@300wpm)
My phone buzzed.
Ashton: My sources tell me Shorty Easter was bailed out by his daughter. Also, you’d been drinking.
Oh, good idea. I went behind the counter and poured myself another drink.
I could hear the water running in the bathroom.
Me: You know people in the slammer. I’d be protected if I went temporarily insane in the next five minutes, right?
Ashton calling.
I answered, leaning my hip against the counter so I could see when my dad came back out. “I’m going to do what you want. Don’t worry.”
He was quiet for a second. “How much did you drink?”
“A few shots. I forgot to take a breath mint, but don’t worry, I had someone drive us.”
“I assumed you’d take the train.”
I needed another sip after the reminder. “I’m aware of that too. Now.”
He smothered a laugh on his end. “Text me when you’re done.”
The door opened. My dad came out, pulling up his pants and fixing his buckle. His head was down. “You got any food in this place? I’m starving after my ordeal. I can’t believe they kept me in there for a whole four days. You must’ve been going out of your mind with worry that they weren’t processing me or something.”
“Yeah. Sure,” I spoke dryly. I ended the call with Ashton. “Food?”
Shorty’s head lifted, and he frowned at me putting my phone away. “Who was that?”
I raised an eyebrow as I took another sip. “You want food?”
He focused on my drink. “It’s early for you to be drinking.” A whole new awareness was entering my dad’s gaze now. Wariness. “You okay, Molly Holly?”
God, I did not want to be here.
I did not want to do this with him.
Be fake. Be a con woman.
I didn’t want to become him.
My heart rate was rising.
My blood was boiling.
“Why was Ashton Walden here the other day?” His tone was quiet now.
Fuck him! Just, fuck. Him.
I was going to flip the switch.
Justin. Kelly. Justin. Kelly.
Remember.
“Forget Ashton. You know who should’ve been here that night? They would’ve been here that night.” I could feel them.
Kelly, her laugh. And Justin was always so nice.
My dad fell quiet, but I kept speaking, knowing he had no clue who I was talking about, knowing in his mind everything was about him and his questions and his needs and his desires and him, him, him, but not right now. Right now was about me and what was burning up inside of me, and that was hate and longing, and murder. And pain. “Did you know that?”
“You’re on a first-name basis?”
“That’s not who I’m talking about.”
He scratched at his chin. “Huh?”
“Justin Worthing and Kelly.”
“You knew them?” Of course he knew about them, but he shouldn’t. He had never met them, but he knew about them, about their death. Ashton was right. My father could find anything out. He was such a rat.
“Kelly and Jess Montell came here every Sunday night. It was their thing. They came with friends who weren’t any of their normal friends. Jess told me it was her night away from her work. She needed it like church. My place”—my voice broke—“here. It was a sanctuary for them, and then Justin came in Jess’s place later, so I got to know him too.” A tear slipped out. I didn’t dare look at my dad. “He was a good guy. He wasn’t in the life, like his family was. She was too. God. They both were so good. They didn’t deserve what happened to them. Whoever did it.”
“Why are you talking about this? Why was Ashton Walden here that night?”
I lost it—turning, I heaved my drink at him.
His eyes bulged out, and he ducked. The glass went over his head, crashing and shattering against a chair. I let it go, glaring at my father in a way I never had before. He saw it and sucked in his breath. “Honey—”
“Don’t fucking ‘honey’ me! You conned me out of thirty thousand dollars! I want to murder you.” I was gritting my teeth at the end. Fuck this man.
I bent, grabbing whatever was closest to me, and I came back up, a broom in my hand.
“Molly.” His hands were up. He was backing away. “Honey. Sweetie. Let’s talk about this—”
“You want to know what Ashton Walden was doing here the other night? He told me the truth. Easter Lanes belongs to his family, to him. You made me pay for it! I hate you. I loathe you. I am currently planning on how to murder you. You asshole, narcissistic dirtbag who was never a father. You were worse than a father. You—” God! I stopped, horrified at myself. I’d been about to let him know how much I knew about Mom.
“Molly! Come on! I’ll—help you get it back. How about that?”
“Get out!” Don’t get out, not yet. Stay.
I needed him to do what I needed him to do.