Total pages in book: 209
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 196085 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 980(@200wpm)___ 784(@250wpm)___ 654(@300wpm)
There is one question we ask when someone comes to us for fixing. Are you open to living outside the US? If they are, we can set them up like kings and queens in Mexico or some other country where money buys anything.
This fucker, for whatever reason, made it clear that staying in the US was mandatory. So, he gets to be Mr. Paul Finkle with a one-bedroom shithole above a laundromat. But he gets to keep his dick alive and for most guys that’s the primary focus.
The timer dings in my head and with cold, deliberate movements I clear the table top. As I stand, I kick back the worn metal folding chair and tuck the files into my briefcase. Without another word I’m out the door and pinging the driver to be ready to make record time back to the airport.
I’m done with this. I don’t know how. I don’t have any idea how to get out of the corner I’ve painted myself in, but this…what just happened. This piece of shit knowing my name. The veiled threat that I have something to lose.
If she knows everything, I could fucking lose her. Every scenario I devise has a fatal flaw, but I can’t keep doing this.
I won’t put her in harm’s way. Not anymore. That is my promise to her and to myself. I’ll find a way. Even if it means we become Mr. & Mrs. Paul Finkle.
6
Ginger
“Let me die already.” George pulls the white handkerchief of surrender out of the breast pocket of his suit jacket and waves it over the board. “Why do you insist on dragging this out? You could have stomped me five turns ago.”
George got here a couple hours after Daddy left. Brought me Churches chicken strips. I worked outside in the garden for a while and played with Romper and Geisha and all the other animals.
George worked on his phone and laptop in Daddy’s office while I did other things, but it’s enough just to know he’s here. We ate lunch, now we’ve been playing RISK for hours and it’s pushing ten o’clock.
“What fun would that be? I like to watch you suffer.” I try to snatch his white flag from mid-air but he jerks it back, stuffing it into its front pocket. He reaches up and runs his massive hand back and forth over his bald head then down his face with a sigh to grip his salt and pepper beard.
“Careful there, little girl.” George is fun, but he’s also a Dominant and I watch my P’s and Q’s around him, much like I’ve been trained to do with Daddy.
“Yes, Sir.” I smile, tossing up the respectful title and I watch his face soften. These Dominant men, I didn’t understand it before I met Daddy, but I do now.
They are in charge. But never arrogant.
It’s comforting to know the level of care they have. They are hard when necessary but have hearts as big as any I’ve encountered in my life.
“Your roll.” George hands me the dice. “So how did you get so good at strategy games? You know you’re good, right? I mean, every game Stas or I ever play with you, you trounce us.”
I shift in the chair and play with the smooth ivory dice in my palm while I calculate my answer.
A wave of guilt covers me as I begin. “Back at the village—that’s what they called it—” the well woven lies I’ve created spill out of me so easily now it’s scary. “We didn’t have television or electricity in the evenings. They ran the generator only when needed and I guess at night it wasn’t needed.” The level of detail I put into this fantasy life surprises even me, but getting out of the tangle of it all now would surely end things for Stas and me.
I just hope someday it will all just fade away. He will realize there is not much to talk about regarding my past and it will become a non-issue. “We had books and games for any free time. I wasn’t much of a reader—you know that, right?” The part about not being a reader is about the only truth in my statement.
I’m honestly not sure how I’m so good at strategy games, I didn’t start playing them until I came here. Just came naturally.
“Yes, I have a niece who is severely dyslexic. She sort of has her own language when she writes.” George chuckles. “But once you decode it, it’s easy to understand. Most people just don’t want to take the time.”
“Yeah.” I nod. “Well, back where I grew up…” I stall, choosing my words with thought. “…no one tried to understand. But they didn’t care all that much either. Free love, free range parenting and smoking pot, working the garden, things like that were what mattered more. Until I left I had never even seen a cell phone. I never even knew my parents’ real names. They were just Sam and Diane and I was just Ginger. Every once in a while, they would say our last name, Murphy, but truth is I think they just made it all up.”