Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74078 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 370(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 247(@300wpm)
It gave, and swung slightly open, no extra locks to worry about.
I was just standing back up from grabbing her drink and popcorn when I saw it.
A slash of blood on the inner molding of the door.
“Fuck,” I hissed, moving inside.
While, yes, the building itself might have been white and bright and sunny, it came as no surprise to me that Josie’s apartment itself was more like her office.
Dark.
Moody.
The walls themselves were painted a forest green so deep that it was almost black. The artwork over the long sectional that seemed to match the one in her office were in big, gold frames, and were prints of what looked like haunted houses, old, dilapidated insane asylums, somber looking women in gowns, and flower arrangements.
There were french doors out onto a balcony overlooking the water, and a small dining table that seemed unused, as it was covered in unopened delivery boxes.
To the other side of the sprawling common space was the kitchen.
I imagine, when she moved in, the thing had been all white. That was what was trendy in places like that.
But it didn’t suit Rynn.
It didn’t matter that she didn’t cook.
She still wanted it to match her personal preferences.
The cabinets themselves were a another shade so dark that it was almost black, but this time it was an umber brown. There were gold cabinet pulls, exposed upper cabinets showing off a dark collection of dinnerware, and a shiny, dark green tile backsplash. The countertops were a deep gray color.
On the center of the island was a pitcher full of black roses that were quickly wilting, a few petals scattered around the counter.
I put her drink and popcorn down on that island as I moved toward the hallway, my pulse quickening now that I knew that whatever had gone down had involved bloodshed.
Hers.
I had no idea how it happened.
But if a person was involved in that bleeding? Yeah, they were going to fucking pay for it.
My blood was pounding in my ears, making it impossible to hear anything over it as I moved down the hall, passing an empty bedroom, save for several cat trees and some intricate system on the walls for the cats to use as a jungle gym.
One of said cats, another black one, was lying upside down on one of the tree stands, batting lazily at a mouse-shaped toy above her head.
The other cat was missing.
I couldn’t help but wonder if it was like Binx, lying in wait, ready to scratch a chunk of me out.
There was a half bath next.
Then, finally, the primary bedroom.
The door was mostly closed, but I pushed it open.
This room, this was all darkness.
Blackness.
Black being the only color in the space. The walls, the furniture, the big headboard, the chandelier over the bed, the bedding itself.
The only spot of light in the room was a pale shoulder sticking out of the covers.
I froze, watching her for a second, my own breath caught in my chest until I saw her body moving slowly, but steadily, in her sleep.
Asleep.
Not dead.
Not so terribly injured that she was on the brink of death.
I would like to say I relaxed, but I didn’t.
Just because she wasn’t dying didn’t mean she was okay.
If she was okay, she would have assured Josie that she was. She would have accepted her friend’s offer to bring her some food.
Something was wrong.
“Rynn,” I called, voice low, figuring maybe I could slowly ease her toward consciousness. “Rynn,” I tried again, getting closer to the bed. “Baby, wake up,” I demanded more firmly. “Rynn,” I tried, louder, this time reaching out to touch her shoulder.
That was the wrong move.
She snapped awake, moving almost in a blur she was so fast.
Clearly, she was on high alert, because no one moved like that unless shit had gone down.
One second, she was asleep.
The next, she was swinging a knife at me.
My own hand shot out, grabbing her wrist just before it could slice my arm, and holding it in a firm grip.
“Baby…” I started, then I actually got a look at her.
“Baby, what the fuck happened?” I asked, voice tight.
Josie was right.
Something was definitely not fucking okay.
Whatever “job” she’d been on had gone sideways.
Because someone had used her face as a punching bag. She was swollen and bruised, purple and blue mottling her jaw and cheek, and encircling her eye.
There was a small slit in her lip.
Below that, the bruises on her neck told a very clear fucking story. Someone had strangled her.
Mother fucker.
Unable to stop myself, I reached out with my free hand, whipping the blankets off of her.
I don’t know what the fuck happened, but there were bruises on her knees and lacerations all over her arms and legs.
“Cato?” she asked, voice so small that I barely even heard it.
As quiet as it was, though, I could tell from the wince on her face that it hurt.