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
I couldn’t see what was happening in the living room, I couldn’t will myself to move, to step forward, to know. But I didn’t have to see. I could hear everything. I could hear the rustle, the scrape, the cry of his voice, the gasps, the shudder of syllables.
It was Gwen. He called her name over and over. Begged her to wake up. Told her he loved her. Told her he was sorry.
It was Gwen. Dead.
I lowered myself to the floor, my legs trembling, my knees pulling to my chest, my arms wrapping around them. I closed my eyes, blocking out the view of her foot, which now lay sideways, and moved a little in response to something that Dario was doing. I blocked out sight and thought, and only heard sounds.
The sounds of Dario breaking. The sounds of everything between us shattering.
It was ridiculous to think of myself right then. Crazy for me to have any thought in my head other than his grief and the realization that a woman was dead. A woman I didn’t know, but one that Vegas had loved and respected. I shouldn’t have been thinking of anything except her, and how I could help him.
I shouldn’t have thought of us, but I did. I held my knees tightly, listened to him whisper her name, and felt tears leak down my cheeks.
I cried out of guilt.
I cried out of fear.
I cried because, with all of this, I didn’t see a future for us.
* * *
He finally stopped. No more soft cries of Gwen’s name. No more whispers of apologies. He stopped, and there was the creak of floorboards, and he came around the corner and stood there, looking at me. I lifted my head and wiped my fingers underneath my eyes.
“How long have you been here? Since you texted me?”
I nodded, mute. His voice was cold, a complete change from the man who had just broken into pieces at the sight of her body.
His eyes moved over the room, taking in details and zeroing in on the kitchen counter. The gun. I pushed off the floor and to my feet.
“Is that yours?”
He was terrifying in this moment. Not in his emotion, but in his calm fury, the controlled cadence of his speech, the emotionlessness of his words.
I shook my head. Wet my tongue. Found my speech. “No. It was in that bag…” I gestured to the paper bag, still sitting on the counter. “The bag was right inside the front door. I almost tripped over it. I picked it up.”
“And you touched the gun.”
“Yes.”
“Don’t touch anything else.”
He walked over and looked at the gun. Looked back at the living room. “Fucking hell.” He stared down at the gun, and I tried to figure out what he was thinking. I stepped closer and he held up his hand.
“Don’t come near me.”
I swallowed, panic welling at the curt tone and the way he moved, just a fraction of a step, away from me.
“This looks bad. This looks fucking bad.”
I couldn’t stop my head from turning, from looking at her shoe. Only now, in my new position, I saw more—her body, half-curled on its side. I closed my eyes and wondered if I would ever forget that image.
Is love worth a death? Is our love… this affair? I forced myself to look back at her, to understand the loss of life that I—we—caused.
Then, a second thought occurred to me. One I should have figured out the minute I saw her shoe. In ‘my’ suite. Her dark mess of bloody brunette hair.
“Did she… was I…” I couldn’t find the words, form the thought, complete the question. Was that supposed to be me, slumped on the floor, one leg awkwardly bent?
Am I supposed to be dead right now instead of her?
Dario ignored me. He pulled out his cell phone, dialed a number and lifted the phone to his ear.
“This is Dario Capece.” He spoke firmly, a man in control, a voice that gave me hope.
“I need an officer to Suite 908 of The Majestic. I’ll have security meet you at the front desk and escort you up. There’s been a murder.”
His eyes met mine.
“The victim was Bell Hartley.”