Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85443 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
To that, Mr. St. James sighed heavily like I was a slow child and lifted a brow at me. "You live here now. Enjoy your last night at your apartment, take the things with you that you absolutely need, things like: shampoo, soap, conditioner, razors, makeup, tampons, a small supply of clothes, indispensable mementos, and leave the shit you don't need: all your books and pictures and sheets and everything else you don't need to survive day-to-day, and then drive here tomorrow morning because you live here now. Is that clear enough for you?"
It actually was. And, normally, I would have truly appreciated that fact. But, well, he was a complete douchebag so all I managed was to small-eye him and jerk my chin. "Yep."
"Mack, spend the night with your daughter. It's the last time you will see her for a while. But not," he went on to add as I felt my heart constrict in my chest at the idea of not being able to see my father, "the last time you will see me."
"You said..." I started to object, pulling my hand from my father's and moving closer to his desk, ready to pitch a holy shitfit if he was going to go back on his word.
As if sensing my argument and having no patience for it, he held up a hand at me. "We have some things to discuss. I give my word that is all it is for now."
"Yeah, well... I have no idea how much your word is worth," I snapped, crossing my arms over my chest.
"It's worth everything," he said in a heavy tone, putting his hands wide on his desk and leaning slightly over it in a way that was so threatening that I had to fight to not take a step back. "Now if you're done acting like an impertinent child, I have business."
Impertinent child?
Impertinent child?
"Let's go, Prue," my father said suddenly, his arm going around my waist as he forcibly turned me away from Byron St.James, knowing because he knew me like no other, that I was seconds from absolutely losing my mind. "We will talk, St. James," my father said, his back to the man in question as he led me toward the hall.
Any time I tried to speak on the way out of the house to the car, my father actually shushed me. Shushed me. This was a man who was completely incapable of tolerating silence in any way. If he wasn't waxing on and on about something or another, doing so with so much enthusiasm and flourish that you were incapable of being angry about him interrupting whatever you had previously been doing, he was singing loudly to music; if he wasn't doing that, he was reaching for your hand and asking you about your day, about your life, about your hopes and dreams, about your fears... and listening. When Mack Marlow's attention was on you, it was on you and you felt like the most important person in the world.
Quiet was never something that was afforded me when I was in my father's presence.
So him shushing me, yeah, that was a giant, blinking, neon warning sign to shut the hell up.
So I did.
Until we got into the car.
Until we got out of the driveway.
Until we got across town to almost the Atlantic City limits where my apartment was.
Until we climbed the stairs to my apartment and closed ourselves inside.
Then and only then did he finally speak.
"We need to go. Now," he snapped, moving around my apartment, grabbing various items into his arms as he went.
"Dad... what are you doing?"
"Mexico. Canada. The islands. Europe. God damn Ukraine. I don't give a damn, but we have to get the hell out of this country right now, Dear Prudence," he said, grabbing my picture off my bookshelf of the time he took me to Disney and we posed with Belle who was, as anyone with a brain knew, the best Disney princess.
"Dad. Dad," I said louder, almost yelling to try to catch his attention. When I did, I saw nothing but fear and worry and regret in his face. "We can't run from this. You know that. I bet if you looked down at the street that one of his body guard guys or whatever they are is sitting in a car outside. He knows your instinct will be to run."
"You can't go work for him. You can't go live with him!"
I took a deep breath, trying to calm my own nerves that were screaming the exact same thing in my head. As was almost always the case, I had to be the level-headed one, I had to be the grown up. "I have no choice, Dad. And he said he wouldn't hurt me."
"He said not like that."
"Exactly so he won't..."