Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
I hate that I feel like I'm disobeying Ellis because what right does the man have to tell me to stay put at the hotel?
None, that's what.
The drive from the hotel to my neighborhood is unfamiliar, the driver taking roads and turns I never take, but it gets me to where I need to be. I pay through the app, leaving what I would consider a nice tip, but also not overdoing it because I've already missed more work than I should've. Paying all of my bills this month is going to be more difficult than normal, and that's going to be rough. I'm already living paycheck to paycheck.
"Thank you," I say before climbing out.
I wait for the car to drive away before I start up the short sidewalk to my tiny front porch.
I doubt my neighbors care that I'm pulling my potted plant toward my door so I can stand on the edge, but thankfully, the hidden key I left on the top of the doorframe for Morgan is still there.
I slide it into the lock and shove the door open.
I've only been gone for three days, but the air inside the living room is hot and thick, my ivy in the corner looking worse for wear since I keep the air conditioner off when I'm not home in order to save on electricity.
Even with it being October, the heat inside the house is so oppressive, that it makes me want to sit on the front porch and order another Uber back to the hotel.
Instead of leaving, I close myself in the house and press my back to the front door. Sweat beads on my forehead and between my breasts, but the heat raising my body temp has nothing on how hot it felt listening to the sounds Ellis was making in his sleep earlier this morning.
I swear I saw him reach under the sheet he's been using to cover up with on the sofa, and I had a major battle between making noise and waking him up and letting him sleep just to see how far things would go.
Ultimately, I slapped my coffee cup down on the table, jolting him awake. It felt like the less creepy thing to do, but I'm woman enough to admit that I felt a tinge of regret in doing so.
I don't know why he's dragging his feet in putting an end to Dima and finding out what happened to Alena, but, at the same time, I wonder just how much I'm going to think of him once we split ways.
My body urges me to climb in his lap every time we're near, but then he says or does something that makes me want to wrap my hands around his throat and squeeze or shake some sense into him.
Unable to tolerate the heat in here much longer, I head to the small kitchen and grab a cup from the dish drainer, filling it with water, before walking over to my poor little ivy. I pour the water into the soil, knowing I might be too late when it just soaks in and disappears, leaving the topsoil still looking as dry as before.
I jolt when knuckles meet the front door, but it only startles me for a second before I walk over and lift up on the tips of my toes to peer through the peephole.
I fully expect to see Ellis standing there, and I'm already formulating my argument for him tracking my phone or something, but my blood runs cold when I see the goon from the warehouse standing there.
My heart rate triples, my hands immediately shaking.
I'd never open the door for this man but he looks like the type that will kick it in any second.
I run to the back door, opening it slowly, and not bothering to take a second look at my little house even though I have no clue when I'll be back. The fence at the back of my house isn't in the best condition. Its repair has always been on my list of things to talk to the landlord about, but it was further down with basic survival things above it.
I climb through a hole that was cut there before I moved in and praise the neighbors for putting in a privacy fence all the way around their house. It shields me from the goon looking around the edge of my house and seeing me scurrying through the alleyway.
Afraid that the man might have someone else waiting at the mouth of the alley, anticipating my escape from the house, I crouch down beside a row of trash cans, trembling as I clutch my phone. My hands are trembling so hard that I nearly drop the thing twice.
Tears streak down my face as regret for leaving the hotel in the first place takes up residence in my gut.