Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72091 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
* * *
BELL
My phone dinged as I pulled into the garage. Putting the car into park, I let it idle, digging through my purse and pulling out my cell. Dario’s name was on the display, and I opened his text.
—Go in, get undressed and wait on the bed.
I smirked. Bossy man. I read the instructions a second time, my body already tightening in anticipation. I shot back a response.
walking in now
I turned off the car and opened the door, grabbing my bag and stepping out, the garage eerily cool and quiet. Locking the doors, I glanced around for a moment, feeling the same crawl of unease that had hit me in the Taco Bell. There, it was ridiculous, the restaurant crowded, no danger in sight. But here …. I listened for the echo of shoes against the floor, but only heard a squeak of tires, a few floors down. Taking a last look around, I entered my code and unlocked the door, moving through the hall and into the suite.
The lights were on, and I almost tripped over the bag, one left in the middle of the floor, just inside the front door. Picking it up, I reached inside, surprised to feel something hard. I stepped into the kitchen, where the light was better and looked inside. It was a gun, my gun. I reached inside and pulled it out, confused. In the light, I saw the differences. It was an S&W, not a Glock, this one a bit beefier than mine. I lifted my purse and placed it on the counter, my curiosity causing me to open the neck of it and verify that my own gun was inside. Yep. I looked back at the new weapon and grabbed my phone to text Dario. Maybe it was his. Though… why had he left it in the middle of the foyer?
I turned, stepping on the back of one shoe and lifting my heel, working off the tennis shoe. I flipped my foot forward and the Nike flew through the air and toward—
I stopped. The sole of a tennis shoe was exposed, a bit of an ankle showing before dark jeans began. It was all I could see, the wall hiding the rest of the scene. Someone was in the living room. Lying facedown. Unmoving. My tossed Nike hit the edge of the couch and the person didn’t flinch or react in any way.
I choked back a scream as my brain warred between stepping backward or forward. In three steps, I could be at the door, twisting the handle and escaping. Three steps in the opposite direction and I would know what, or who, was attached to the rest of that shoe.
I glanced between the gun, the paper bag, and the shoe. My breaths shortened and panic flared.
The door clicked and I spun to face it.
* * *
DARIO
I pushed the door open, and she was in the foyer, her phone in hand, her face pale. I smiled, ready to chastise her for not being naked and waiting. But the look on her face, the panic that only intensified when she saw me … I stepped forward and shut the door. “What’s wrong?”
She didn’t respond, didn’t do anything but turn toward the kitchen, her hands gripping the edge of the counter, her weight heavy on it, her breathing hard. “The living room. I can’t—”
She can’t. She can’t … what? He turned and saw the bottom of an Adidas cross-trainer. A shoe he knew. A shoe he jogged behind in Colorado, her legs pumping up a mountainside, her breath easy as he wheezed, her laugh floating down at him. A shoe he had kicked out of the way too many times, her messy habits the sort that leave clothes in the middle of hallways, and don’t expect anyone to trip over them. A shoe that had been pulled on in stiff silence, laced up with short angry jerks, and all but stomped out of their home less than an hour ago.
Gwen.
He fell to his knees and crawled forward, calling her name, knowing, even as he rounded the corner, what he would find. Blood.
Blood, a coiled mess of it, drenching her dark brown hair. Specks of it on the grey sweater, the wood floor. He scrambled toward her, praying aloud, his hands clawing at her body, pulling her into his arms. She rolled toward him, her limbs limp, her features slack.
“Oh God. Gwen…”
He sobbed in a way he hadn’t done since he was a child. He hurt in a way he never had in his life. He clung to her, hugged her to his chest, his hand cupping at the wet, damaged back of her head, and pressed a kiss, then a dozen kisses to her face.
She didn’t move, didn’t blink, didn’t react. Her mouth didn’t curve into the smile that he loved, her eyes didn’t lift, and her chest stayed still.