Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58691 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 293(@200wpm)___ 235(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
THUD THUD THUD
Startled awake, with one eye open, I glance to the windows for a hint of what time in the day it is. The sun is barely starting to rise, and the sound of someone banging on my front door has my head jerk in that direction. Sitting up, I grab my Armani sweats from the chair next to my bed and slip them on, making sure to grab my Berretta that’s fastened underneath.
The banging continues, the urgency pissing me off. I look to the clock on the microwave, it’s only six in the morning. I’ve only been asleep for two hours. Whoever is at my door better have nine lives because I’m going to kill them twice over.
Unlocking the chain and deadbolt, I open it up finding my father looking at me with wide eyes and a sweaty face. He doesn’t look like he’s even been to bed, he’s still wearing what he had on last night.
“What are you doing here?” I jut my chin.
He shoves past me, bursting into my apartment.
“I gave you a fucking job, and you screwed it up!” He sneers, making himself at home, he heads to my kitchen and starts jerking open cabinets as if he’s looking for something.
“What are you talking about?” I ask half asleep, shutting my front door.
I’m never awake at this hour. I hate the sun, and I hate people. He knows this, so why is he here babbling on about the hit Romeo and I took care of last night is frustrating. I’ve worked my way to my position in this family and I shouldn’t have my goddamn father at my door asking me questions before the sun rises. I was given a job, I did it. I’m not some damn kid needing a scolding, and I sure as hell don’t need him questioning my ethics. My fuse is short and I tend to go overboard when it comes to talking to other humans, but I get the point across and we get paid. If he wanted someone to pussyfoot around the situation he should have asked someone in the crew to do the job.
Finding what he was looking for, he snatches a glass from a cabinet and fills it with faucet water. Taking a long drink before finally turning around and looking at me.
“You burned down the goddamn salon!” he yells, throwing the glass at me. He misses, and it hits the wall, shattering into a million pieces. I don’t budge, I cross my arms and wait for his temper tantrum to subside.
“You killed Tina, you son of a bitch, and now we gotta kill the husband before he talks!”
This is news to me. I didn’t kill anyone last night, I’d remember.
I open my mouth to inform him of this and he walks around the counter holding his hand up to shut me up. My jaw tics with irritation and if he wasn’t in the position, he is in today I’d tell him how tired I am of him flexing his goddamn ranking.
“She was in the back of the salon in a tanning bed when it burned down. Her husband is in the hospital beat to fucking hell and you’re going to finish it.”
“Shit,” I groan, not knowing about Tina in the back is a step back, but the husband in the hospital comes as no surprise. “Is he talking?” I’ll get dressed and end his life right now. I’m not one to have lose ends untied.
“Not yet. But he will,” Dad says, his voice a little calmer than before.
I sigh loudly. Harold won’t talk. He knows better, but with my dad here this early in the morning stressing out like some damn bitch… I feel pent-up, stressed.
“Did anyone else see you and Romeo last night?” he asks. My eyes pop to his and Leona Bravado flashes in the back of my head. That dress, her gorgeous face. With the heat of the fire on my back and the anger coursing through my veins, she was a sight for sore eyes.
“Yes, Leona.” Her name slips from my lips like a foreign language. She’s a mysterious creature for sure. I’m supposed to hate her, our blood poison to one another yet I’m very intrigued by her.
“Bravado?” His double chin jiggles asking me for clarification.
I nod.
Raising his hand, he rubs his chin, looking out one of my windows. Silence blankets the room and I can tell he’s thinking.
“Meet me at the yacht tonight,” he finally says, looking over his shoulder at me.
“Tonight,” I accept.
He points at me.
“Call your mother.”
“She doesn’t make any sense when I see her. She’s always drunk and high. You know that,” I clip, and he shakes his head.
“I’ll make some phone calls and get this mess of yours cleaned up,” he says under his breath walking toward my front door.