Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73880 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 369(@200wpm)___ 296(@250wpm)___ 246(@300wpm)
Right.
“We were only friends,” I say with a sigh. I can’t tell her that Timeo Montavio is a high-ranking member of one of the most dangerous mobs in New England. I can’t tell her that he went undercover to do a job as repayment for a favor that I’m not even supposed to know about that. I can’t tell her anything. “His job is dangerous. He…he took on a job that was probably the most dangerous one he ever did, and he never came home.”
Lulu wipes what I’m confident is a fake tear from her cheek. “Heartbreaking,” she says in a shaky voice. “Absolutely devastating. Please, if you can,” she says, clutching at her chest. “Tell us one of your fondest memories? And can you tell us his name?”
I shake my head. “No names, please. But yes, of course.”
My phone buzzes again.
And again.
And again.
Is everything okay? Why are they trying to get in touch with me?
I either have to end this interview sooner than later, or somehow discreetly check my watch for messages.
“He taught me how to drive,” I say with a happy sigh. God, those are fond memories. Sergio about lost his mind when he found out that Timeo had been taking me to the quiet graveyard near our home, but when I logically pointed out it saved him the trouble and I was ready to get my license, he decided to let Timeo live after all. “God, that was so fun. We’d sneak out at the crack of dawn, since I was still living with my —”
Oh, God. I almost slipped. I almost told her more of my back story that I do not share.
“My family,” I say. “We’d drive around this graveyard that was nearly abandoned. It was one of the older ones you only see in New England.”
Fuck. Shit. I’d ask her to edit that out, but we’re live.
New England’s a big place, I reason. A really big place. I could be anywhere.
Another series of texts comes in. I can’t put this off any longer.
I pretend to drop something on the floor and lean over to get it, before discreetly checking my watch.
I have twelve texts.
My belly swoops.
Eden:
Starla, please answer. Please. Are you home?
Starla! I’m trying to get in touch with you. Please, please respond. I’ve been calling and texting and haven’t heard from you!
“Sorry, dropped something,” I mutter as I quickly click on Sergio’s messages next. He’s a lot less diplomatic than Eden.
Sergio:
Where the fuck are you?
There’s a loud banging at my door.
I jump to my feet.
“I’m so sorry, I’m going to have to continue this interview another day,” I say apologetically as I scroll through ten messages from Sergio demanding I call immediately.
“Of course, of course,” Lulu says. “Thank you for your time and I am so sorry to hear that you—”
I shut the connection down. Looks like I had “technical difficulties.” Lulu will roll with it.
Bangs sound at the door again, loud and insistent. My poor pups aren’t even home yet. With a racing heart, I walk to the door. I have a bodyguard, per Sergio’s insistence, but there are voices outside the door.
I peek through the peephole and gasp.
CHAPTER TWO
Timeo
I blink in the glaring light of the overhead spotlights. After God knows how long of being in the dark, or a dimly lit space, I’m nearly blinded by an actual overhead light.
Where the fuck am I?
I’ve been asking that goddamn question for months — years? Who fucking knows how long. A question I’ve never been able to get the answer to. I don’t even remember how I got here.
But I’ve never forgotten who I am. That’s one thing they can never take from me.
I’m sitting in a metal chair secured to the floor in a typical holding cell — brick walls, concrete floor, no windows, hands cuffed. Six assholes sitting in folding chairs with their arms crossed over their chests, staring at me.
I’ll take a fucking beating to those drugs they give me that fuck my mind up.
I’m here ostensibly as a favor for my brother, but that plan quickly got derailed, as plans do.
I went undercover as a favor to my older brother Ricco. I’d agreed to go undercover, report back to the cartel as repayment for a favor.
What these motherfuckers don’t know is that I’m getting exactly what I need.
“You guys look worse in the fucking light than I imagined,” I mutter. My voice sounds husky and rough from disuse. “I’ve never been a ‘fuck with the lights off’ kinda guy, but I sure as fuck hope you dicks keep the damn lights off.”
If not for my voice in my own ears, I’d wonder if I said anything at all, because there’s no response. They don’t even blink, like the fucking well-trained robots they are.
The door swings open. They leap to their feet as one, like trained military.