Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76694 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 307(@250wpm)___ 256(@300wpm)
Reaching under my pillow, I bring the small figurine to my lower stomach and push her sharp feet into my flesh, gasping to contain the pain of the burn and relief of the cut. I need to bleed out the darkness.
A violent voice fights my mind for control. If Jewel slipped in the shower one day, I doubt anyone would be shocked. They’d say she probably fainted from hunger.
No. No. No.
Grabbing my phone, I wince. Clint has texted and called again today.
Letting out a sigh, I hit call, hoping he doesn’t pick up.
My hope is dashed by the third ring.
“Hello?” he chimes down the line, a pitch of surprise in his tone.
“It’s me,” I say, gaining an answering chuckle.
“I know it’s you, silly.” I turn onto my side, squeezing the ballerina in my grip. “It’s so good to hear your voice,” he croons, sounding nervous.
A female voice in the background groans for him to come back, and the ruffling tells me he’s moving.
“Who’s that?” I ask, both intrigued and agitated.
If he has another girl occupying his bed, why is he constantly blowing my phone up?
“It’s no one,” he says dismissively.
“Does she know she’s no one?” I ask, insulted on her behalf.
Why do men think they can just decide who is worthy of being more than just a fuck?
“She knows she’s not the girl you marry.” His words are hollow, used often by shallow, entitled assholes. “It’s just sex, Ally. You’re the girl I’ll marry.” My insides want to disperse over my bedroom floor.
Isn’t that what Hannah said about Serena? She’s not the girl a man like Mr. Leto would marry.
Getting into a sitting position, I clutch the phone in my shaky hand. “That’s so funny, because the guy I’m fucking said the exact same thing about me.”
Once the words leave my lips, a sense of giddy joy washes through my system like a drug.
“What the hell did you say?” he asks, his tone full of contempt.
“Also, Clint, you’re a shitty fuck, so expect a no when you do propose.” I end the call, throwing my phone onto the mattress, and let out a weird squeal before walking over to the mirror.
The small swell of blood blossoming on my lower stomach makes me smile. Smearing my finger through it, I bring it to my lips and swipe across them. A tap on my door makes me jump.
“Who is it?” If it’s Jewel, I may drag her into the room and force feed her until she loses her hangry attitude.
“Nathanial, I can come back?” his baritone voice rings out.
“No,” I pull my shirt back into place and stuff the ballerina figurine into my dresser drawer.
“Hey?” I say as I open the door, more as a question than a greeting. His eyes shift to the bed where my phone vibrates incessantly.
“I never see you home at this hour and wondered if you’d like to get some extra training in?” He’s sweet and seems genuine, and I need to release some of this energy.
“Do you need to get that?” he asks, stuffing his hands into the pockets of his jeans.
“No. It’s no one important.” I shrug. “Training sounds great. Let’s do that.”
Chapter Twenty-Three
Luca
Eddie is predictable, it would appear.
Thomas gives me a nod in confirmation as a picture message pops up on my burner phone.
“What now?” Marcello asks.
“Now, we wait.” I fist my hand. Patience is a must in these situations. We need to take Eddie without being seen.
I usually wouldn’t be the one to handle the grunt work, but I can’t let him out of our sight now we have him.
We park in the shadows. Thomas checked the building for outside cameras and there aren’t any.
“I’ll need you to drive. I have another job Thomas needs to take care of,” I inform Marcello.
He quirks a brow. “You going to elaborate or…?”
“You’ll know soon enough.” I tell him.
Getting out of the car, I make the call for another car to come collect Thomas and tap the window, gesturing for him to join me.
“Sir?” Thomas asks, waiting for instruction.
“The job I gave you today—the man in the photo at Vino’s?”
“Yes,” he confirms.
“It’s turned cold. Both occupants. Accidental,” I tell him, giving him the address Detective Morels sent over.
“I understand, sir. I’ll make arrangements for tonight.”
He moves across the street to wait for his car while I await Eddie. The air is cold, causing condensation to billow from my lips, making me less invisible than i’d like but it’s dark and anyone who does exit the bar is too drunk to notice their own feet let alone us.
It only takes ten minutes for Thomas’s ride to arrive, and just as he slips inside and drives away, Eddie exits the bar.
I bring up the picture to be sure, then stuff my phone back in my pocket.
There’s no mistaking it’s him. He sways as he stumbles around the building and drops his jeans, pissing up the wall. I knock on the window to alert Marcello, and he jumps into the driver’s seat.