Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 115964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 115964 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 580(@200wpm)___ 464(@250wpm)___ 387(@300wpm)
To do what?
No.
The answer was solid. It settled in my gut.
I relaxed back in bed, Raize’s hand returning to soothing over my stomach.
“I will only stay if I make a difference. If I can’t, if there’s absolutely no indication that Roman will listen to me, then I want out. I want out with you.”
Raize’s hand paused and he moved, rising above me again. His eyes found me, so dark, so somber, so serious. He said, quietly, before fitting his lips to mine, “Deal.”
Deal.
Decision made.
I was okay with that decision.
My first day I wore skintight jeans, boots, a black tank top, and a black leather jacket.
My hair was braided, and the color was on point.
I was known as ‘the canary’, but I decided I wanted to keep the name Ash.
It felt right. It felt like me.
It was also a nod toward Brooke/Ashley, but I wasn’t Ashley. I was Ash. Only Ash.
I was ready to get to work.
Epilogue
Raize
I was waiting behind his bathroom door.
The lights were left off.
He didn’t know that I remembered when I worked for him. He never had the house cleared before he retired to his bed. All his men on his property, around his home, in his home. He assumed.
He liked to walk through his room, then his bathroom, getting ready for bed. He always kept the lights off.
I never knew why. I never asked. Verónica thought it relaxed him, and if he put the lights on, he’d get wired again. He may not sleep as well.
I always thought it was laziness. He didn’t need to be scared and turn the lights on. Tonight, he kept with the same routine except his walk was more shuffling. He had no girlfriend in bed waiting for him, and I knew he hadn’t married.
He was in the bedroom.
He was taking his clothes off. He grabbed—something.
He was shuffling once again, coming into the bathroom.
This was when he’d sit on the toilet. The fan would go on. He’d enjoy his privacy.
He came in. A wine glass was in his hand. He was looking down, his other hand holding his phone. He never looked up. He would’ve seen me. I was behind the door. My shoulder was visible because I couldn’t scoot anymore behind the door.
Clink.
He placed the wine glass down.
He was still focusing on his phone.
He hit the fan, turning it on. His heel lifted back, hitting the door, swinging it shut.
I was completely visible now, though I was dressed all in black. Camouflage over my face and neck, around my eyes. Ears.
He moved to the toilet.
He went one step and I was on him.
I shoved him against the bathroom counter, an arm around his neck. My gloved hand over his mouth, one that was thick enough he couldn’t bite me. My leg twisted in between his from behind and I plucked his phone away, checking—he was on his social media. I tossed it to the side and then I jerked him.
He was struggling, but I had him in a hold he couldn’t fight against.
He was trying to grab the gun tucked into his pajama pants.
I took it out, putting it on the counter behind us, and then I moved him so he could see me in the mirror.
He’d recognize me, and he did, his blood draining from his face.
That’s when I smelled his fear.
Marco was my height, and he was strong. He worked out. He had bulked up in the last year, but it didn’t matter. He couldn’t fight me and he knew it.
When he stopped struggling, I reached behind and took out some rolled-up pictures. I put them on the counter, in the moonlight so he could see what I had. When he did, his entire body seized up, going rigid.
That was good. That told me he cared.
I moved my arm up, tightening my hold, and I angled it underneath his neck. I pulled on my grip, and he grunted, feeling the burn on his skin. If I kept applying pressure, I could snap his neck. I wanted him to know that, feel it coming.
“What do you want?”
He remembered he could talk. That was funny.
“You threatened mine. Now I can threaten yours.”
The picture was of his most current woman and their child.
Marco didn’t care about women, but he cared about his siblings, and I was guessing that would extend to any child of his.
I shook him. “Look at the picture.”
He didn’t, spatting out, “I know who it’s of.”
“You don’t know where. Look.”
His eyes flicked back up to mine, and he swallowed, but trying to inspect the first picture again. When he realized where it was taken, I felt him starting to tremble. Just the slightest. It was enough.
He was scared and he was at my mercy.
“This is how I felt that day when Ash walked our dog to you.”
I would never forget that day.