Total pages in book: 22
Estimated words: 19640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 19640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 98(@200wpm)___ 79(@250wpm)___ 65(@300wpm)
"Drugging pretty girls with water, huh?" I land another hook at his temple before clasping his throat with my left hand and squeezing tightly enough to block off the flow of oxygen. “Good night, motherfucker."
His body slumps, lifeless.
"Shit. We're going to need someone to clean this up," Rafe comments and pulls out his phone, tapping out a quick message to who I assume is our cleaner. I don't keep one on staff, I don't make a habit of bloodying stupid fuckers like this guy, but then, it's been a more common occurrence the last few years since Shelby has gone off to college.
"Where is your tracker?"
"My tracker?" Shelby looks confused, then shoves a hand in her purse and digs around. She pulls out the tiny GPS tracker I made sure that she always carried with her. "I guess the battery died"?
Gio swipes it from her palm, turning it over to examine it before shoving a hand in his pocket and pulling out another one. The one from his pocket blinks red, indicating that it's active. He slips that one in her purse instead. "I'll have to call the company and get a replacement for this one. As long as you're charging at night it should never die."
"Get in the car," I instruct.
And just like that, the four of us walk away. Our family is safe again.
Chapter Four
Shelby
"Are you feeling okay?" Shane asks as he loops my elbow with his, escorting me into the building of my childhood home. My step-uncles follow behind us. They're all a rough and tumble group, but Shane being the oldest always held the most reverence among them. I understand why. He’s scary, taller, with a scar slashed down the side of his cheek, the skin a soft shade of pink that I yearn to slip my tongue along the edges of. I’ve often asked him what happened, but he only ever shakes his head and tells me sweet girls like me don't need to know how evil the world really is. I hope to one day get it out of him.
"Shelby? Answer me—how are you feeling? Do I need to call a doctor and get something to counteract the drugs in your system?" Shane demands.
"No, I feel fine now." Turns out it only took being in my stepdad's presence to calm my nerves. "He must not have given me much, it feels like it's already worked its way out of my system."
"I've already sent an email to the company about the bad GPS battery fritzing out. They're overnighting a replacement," Gio hums as the elevator doors slide open. We packed in, and uncle Rafe closes the right iron door as Gio punches the button for the penthouse.
While they tried to make my childhood home into a home, after Mom died under suspicious circumstances it became more of a bunker and workspace than a cozy place to grow up. Shane insisted we keep the family tight, and no one was ever allowed over to visit. When I went to a friend's house in high school, Shane or one of my uncles was always posted outside to make sure I was safe. The parents of my friends never asked questions, no one ever did, probably because my stepdad and uncles looked so scary they didn't want to know the answer.
They gave me as normal a life as they could and I was always grateful for it. I did what I could to return the favor, making as many home-cooked meals as I could a week, knowing otherwise they would order takeout three times a day like college frat boys. Thankfully, Shane's mom—my adopted Italian grandmother—taught me how to cook all of Shane's favorite meals and they were each tattooed on my brain as my favorite way to spoil them once she was gone.
When we reached the penthouse, I angle for my bedroom. It has been kept in pristine condition since I left for my freshman year of college. I still sleep over almost every weekend. I love the sound of the men as they shuffle around the house after dinner, Gio retreating to the computer in his room, the soft tapping of his fingers on the keyboard lulling me to sleep many nights. Rafe can often be found on the balcony sipping scotch and puffing on a cigar while the sounds of Chicago carry on the breeze.
And Shane.
My Shane.
His bedroom is next to mine, but many nights he comes into my room and sits in the chair in the corner, reading a book, either to himself or out loud to me, until I fall asleep. He has a way of making me feel safe, always being attentive, always making me feel special when no one else ever has.
I love him, there is no doubt about that. And I’ve long gotten over the fact that my love, now that I’m a grown woman myself, definitely leans inappropriate. I don’t have time for shame, I only know that he makes me feel good, and I want to make him feel good in return.