Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“You’d have to move on from Jasmine, if she was your sister.”
He shook his head. “No. Not with Jasmine. I wouldn’t move on. She’d still be mine, regardless.” And with that he left the kitchen.
He’s crazier than I thought. Maybe he’ll get along with Sherman with no problem.
In no time, Chase met the girls outside, whispered something to Jazz to make her swoon, and guided her away. Viv sat there for a minute looking at the sunny blue sky that carried a scatter of clouds above her head.
You could paint this sky with no problem.
I would’ve loved to see Viv grab one of her emergency paint brushes that she always carried along in her pocket book. When the urge to paint rushed over her, she went with it, slapping art on any surface—sidewalks, the back of post office boxes, old shoe boxes, planks of wood, anywhere. Yet, Viv hadn’t painted one thing since we broke up.
You’ll paint again, baby girl.
I pulled Jazz’s hair pin out of my pocket and rushed off to those two locked rooms that I’d expected minutes earlier.
My sister never asked me to do illegal shit unless it meant keeping her or someone safe. Picking locks was my thing. I’d broken in enough houses when I was a kid, taking what I thought should’ve been mine in the first place. Dumb. In those days, envy swam in my eyes. People who had lots of stuff, I hated. I targeted them because I figured if they fell, they’d crash into cushions, instead of slamming to their behinds like a poor person would if he lost all his possessions.
As a kid, I didn’t understand that rich people worked hard for what they got and that even though they had a lot, losing the stuff would be just as devastating. By the time I realized that, the desire to steal had seeped too deep into my bones. It became an addiction, a high, and just like that moment when heroin hit the bloodstream, I sank into myself and went numb. Being in jail at least helped me get over my addiction, but that was the only good thing about those bars. That being said, Jazz hated when I got in trouble and spent a large part of our lives trying to keep me out of it as much as possible. For her to ask me to break into her man’s rooms was huge. It meant that her gut was yanking at her brain and trying to tell her something.
Jazz, I hope you know what you’re doing.
My heart beats increased to that rhythmic boom that always came right before my fingers touched a lock. It was tribal and filled my ears. Adrenaline surged through my body. I could taste the anticipation on my tongue, so sweet I would never turn around and give up on doing this. In my head, I said this was for Jazz. In my heart, I yearned for it, craved the ability to go numb again. Escape. Rise away from this world where a man could open his heart to a woman and be shattered due to extenuating circumstances outside of the both of us. It must’ve been how people felt when their spouse died or left them. Life was one thing on that day and then the next day, it all fled into the unknown.
I need this.
I inhaled and pushed on, sliding my finger up and down that small hair pin, so hard a little line grooved into my skin. Before breaking in, I always approached the house and lock and then decided whatever tools I needed. I was never a pro. Some locks I just didn’t fuck with. Padlocks and deadbolts kept an amateur like me away. Their sole purpose was to keep the door closed and inaccessible. The ones I loved were turn or doorknob-style locks. They were the ones built into the door. They were easy to pick.
When I’d asked Jazz later about the rooms, she’d made it sound like Fort Knox. I checked the knobs out, nothing major at all. Chase’s door had a simple turn-style lock. It made sense. Even if he did have secrets in the rooms, he’d been too much in charge to worry about someone trying to break in. Why would he suspect us or his staff?
I got to the doors. Beads of sweat formed around my forehead. My body heated up as my breathing increased. In. Out. In. Out. An onlooker would think I was hyperventilating. They couldn’t experience the tremors of anticipation waving through my flesh. They couldn’t understand the way my free hand shook while the other remained steady and hungry for wickedness.
Remember. This is just for Jazz, nothing else.
I kind of hated that the lock was so simple, that it didn’t require time or maybe a few days of watching the area to make sure no one would witness it. I slipped in the hair pin. The lock clicked just like that, like I knew it would. No problem. Nothing difficult. I doubted anything major sat in either of the rooms, but if Jazz had a feeling, then why not check?