Total pages in book: 15
Estimated words: 13385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 13385 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 67(@200wpm)___ 54(@250wpm)___ 45(@300wpm)
“You owe me,” he growled.
“I don’t owe you shit!” I snapped. I stiffly pointed to the open door. “Get the fuck out!”
“She died and left everything to you!” he bellowed. I flinched, all that trauma rearing its ugly head. My heart thudded hard against my breastbone, and my hands began to tremble.
“Mom died?” I asked. He clenched his jaw. “Good riddance.” She was one less evil, disgusting human being littering this world.
His hand latched around my throat before I could move out of the way, and he slammed me back against the wall. My feet lifted off the floor, and I choked, clawing at his wrist and hand hard enough to draw blood. But he didn’t even flinch. He showed no signs that what I was doing to him hurt.
“You’ll give me what she left you, you little bitch, or I’ll have you buried right beside her,” he promised, his breath wafting over my face. I gagged, vomit threatening to spill. His breath reeked of alcohol and the scent that came with teeth that weren’t cared for.
I didn’t know why Mom left me anything. As far as I was aware, there was no love lost between us. The only reason I could think of was that she was vindictive enough to not leave his sorry ass anything. Wasn’t like they ever got married. They couldn’t ever get fucking sober enough to tie the knot.
“Burn in… hell,” I rasped. And then, I spit in his face for good measure. If I was dying right here, then I wasn’t taking his shit lying down, even if my heart was threatening to punch right through my chest and tears of fear were streaming down my cheeks.
Dad released me, but then his fist clocked me in the face as I regained my footing. Before I could catch myself, my head slammed into the counter behind me, and my entire world went dark, my body thudding to the floor.
seven
Remi
I slowed my bike down to make the turn into Selma’s driveway. She lived in a small, manufactured home on a couple of acres of land out in the county on Highway 24. It was quiet and peaceful, something I really liked and something I’d been looking for lately since I was getting serious about finding my own place.
A frown tugged at my lips when I saw her front door was hanging open, barely on the hinges—like someone had gripped it and tried ripping it right out of the frame. My muscles tensed, every bit of me going on edge.
This had trouble written all over it. I hadn’t grown up in shitty group homes and not known about trouble. I’d seen plenty of doors get ripped right off the wall like it was nothing.
I kicked my bike stand down before swinging my leg over the beast. My boots crunched along the grass as I made my way to her porch. The house was silent, so I didn’t think anyone would be inside—not anyone I needed to worry about coming face-to-face with, anyway.
The stench of liquor and beer hung in the air—not so heavy like it was in the house but enough for me to know someone who reeked of it had been there. And I had a feeling Selma wasn’t an alcoholic. That bottle of vodka she’d had the other night had knocked her on her ass. It would take more than a single bottle to take out an alcoholic.
“Selma—oh fuck,” I breathed when I stepped further into the house. Selma was laid out on the kitchen floor, a small pool of blood around her head. I kneeled beside her, my phone already in my hand as I checked her pulse, my heart in my throat. I wanted to vomit. My stomach was cramping. But some of my fear subsided when I felt her steady pulse slowly thrumming against my fingertips.
There was just so much fucking blood.
“911, what’s your emergency?”
“My girlfriend’s house was broken into, and she was attacked,” I calmly told the operator. “She has a head injury, and she’s bleeding.”
“Okay, sir.” The dispatcher’s keys clacked in the background. “Can you tell me where you are?”
“I’m with her.” I rattled off her address. “Her pulse is strong, but she’s unconscious. I don’t know how long she’s been lying here. The blood on the floor is cooling.”
“Help is en-route,” she told me. “Do you know if anything was taken?”
I shook my head, my fingers still against her pulse. I was terrified to take them away in case she worsened. “I don’t. And if anything is, it can be dealt with later when she’s awake. We haven’t been dating long,” which wasn’t a total lie, “so I wouldn’t know if something is missing.”
The dispatcher remained on the line with me until an ambulance and police officers showed up. I gave my statement as they stabilized Selma’s neck and lifted her onto a stretcher. Police officers stayed to take a report on the damage, and I followed behind the ambulance all the way to the hospital while calling Adler.