Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
I don’t reply to his plea or to that of the reporters who simply want headlines and ways to twist my story and my reputation.
My phone goes inside my purse this time, and I sink back into the cushion. I’m not done poking the bear, I think, and I’m not allowing Damion to shut me down before I see his father’s fangs up close and personal. My eyes lower, and I replay the last time I saw Damion at the cemetery, only moments after my confrontation with my mother and his father. I live that moment, right after I’d stormed away from them, all over again.
I reach the limo waiting on us, and Damion’s there, in front of me. He doesn’t have to turn me to face him. I do it myself. “We’re done,” I declare. “I’m done, Damion. I’m going to my apartment. I’m not going with you.”
“Alana, don’t do this,” he pleads with torment in his eyes and in that rich timbre of his voice I love so much. But when he reaches me, I hold up a hand.
“No. Just no. I need time. I need space. I need a lot of things I can’t have with you.”
He recoils as if slapped, and I climb inside the car and yank the door shut. “Drive,” I say, and once we’re out of the cemetery, I direct him to a hotel. Damion will look for me. I won’t be there.
I blink back to the present, and I feel as if I’m naked in a sea of dark water filled with broken glass; it cuts me, and I bleed. Soon, I will bleed out, but it doesn’t matter, as this is where I belong.
I have to do this alone. It’s the only way to protect Damion.
Oh, how much I wish I could see him and touch him one last time, but that would be dangerous. He’d tell me all the reasons and ways to make his father pay, which saved me in the process. I don’t want to be saved. I just want to end his father as fast as I possibly can, no matter the price to me.
And there will be a price.
There is already a price.
That price was my father. It won’t be Damion.
Chapter Two
Alana
I’m protecting Damion.
I repeat those words in my head over and over, as I have for days on end.
My actions have consequences, and none of them will hurt him. That’s my vow, which I intend to keep no matter the discomfort or the backlash to me personally. Call me a vigilante, I guess, because when someone is evil and untouchable by the law, what else is left but such an action?
So yes, it guts me to ignore Damion even for one more second, but it’s necessary and part of protecting him. It also guts me to ignore the press, to whom I want to say everything and more, but strategy matters. I’ll hold one press conference, allow an army of press to be set free all at once, and then lawyer up, which means shut up. The truth is, my attorney is in the dark with good reason. I’m not ready for her to force me to be logical or safe.
That comes later.
For now, the ride to the police station is far too long. Time passes as slow as molasses, as my father used to say of my mother’s getting ready for any event they attended, a memory that twists me in knots. He loved her. I thought she loved him, too, but I just don’t know what to think anymore. I’m not sure any thought I have even matters. She’s still my mother, and I have to save her, even from herself.
Finally, we arrive at the police station, and the driver pulls us to the front of the steps. Craig exits first, and I join him. We’re just about to start the climb when two men in suits beeline for me. I expect them to be press, and Craig must as well; he steps in front of me, sheltering me with his big body. “Step back,” he orders. But I’m quickly sideswiped, my heart racing, when one of the men states, “FBI.”
My brow furrows, and adrenaline pulses through me.
FBI? Why is the FBI cornering me at the police station? It feels off. It feels dirty. It feels dangerous.
My mind races as quickly as my heart’s thundering pace, and my rapid-fire conclusion is that there’s no running from this, and if running was what I had in mind, I wouldn’t be here anyway. I move firmly to Craig’s side, confidence I do not feel in the actions. “What can I do for you?” I ask, hopeful that this is about my father’s murder, but deep in my gut, I know it’s not. It’s about West Senior hurting me, and I may well be about to be arrested, even if I have no clue for what.