Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 91161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91161 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
I was done.
I’d been dealt all I could handle, and I was more than fucking over it.
Over being afraid. Over being hungry. Over redheaded hookers. Over being shot at.
Over this sorry excuse for a life.
I sat back on the bed and rested my head against my arm, which hung at an awkward angle. I let my body go limp. Looking out the window, I noticed the sun was out. I didn’t even know what time it was. I didn’t care.
No one looked for me when I might have been someone, so no one would be looking for me now that I was absolutely no one.
It’s ironic really. I’d been wishing for a bed and a roof over my head and in a really fucked up way, for however long they kept me alive, I had it.
The guy whose name I didn’t know left the room but left the tray on the bed. How much of that stuff did I have to take for it to be lethal? Half? All of it? Maybe, King’s plan was to inject me with the drugs himself. Or maybe he was a coward and would order his friend to do his dirty work for him.
Maybe, if I was lucky, my death would be quick. Just a nice bullet to the head.
Either way, it didn’t matter how I was going to go. I just knew it was the end, and oddly enough, it was comforting to come to terms with it instead of spending my remaining hours fighting it.
I was beyond exhausted.
Maybe, King thought I would make things easy on him and off myself with the drugs. I huffed. I wasn’t about to give him that satisfaction. If he wanted me dead, he was going to man-up and do it himself. I used every ounce of strength I had and kicked the tray off the bed. The mirror bounced off the carpet. The coke billowed into the air in a white cloud of fine powder.
And I laughed.
I laughed so hard my entire body shook and tears ran down my face. I laughed so hard that the sound of my laughter got caught in my throat. There I was. Half-naked. Handcuffed to a bed. Puke on my face. A tray of drugs scattered on the floor.
Manically laughing like a schizophrenic who’d skipped out on her meds.
The door opened again and in walked the same guy from earlier. I didn’t acknowledge him, just continued to stare out the window as the sun began to set.
“Do you know how much that shit is worth?” he asked with his eyes wide.
“Nope. And don’t know why you would bother bringing it to me since I already told your friend that I’m no fucking junkie.” I rolled onto my side, turning my back to him. “Why don’t you just kill me, and get it over with.”
“It was a test,” he said, rounding the bed. He propped himself up next to me, his back against the headboard, a steaming ceramic bowl in his hands. “You passed.”
“A what? What the hell does that mean?”
“King. He wanted to know if you were telling the truth, so he tested you. A junkie would’ve said ‘fuck the food’ and dove nose-first into the dope.” He extended the bowl out to me. “Here. I’m Preppy, by the way.”
Odd name for an odd guy. He looked like a cross between a thug, a teacher, and a surfer.
I’d seen him briefly the night before, but I didn’t take the time to really look at him. Preppy was close to six feet tall. He wore light jeans and a short sleeved yellow collared shirt with a white bow tie. His sandy blonde hair was tied back into a wild ponytail on the top of his head, but beneath it his head was shaved clean on both sides above his ears, revealing intricate vine tattoos that started at his temples and circled around his head. His arms, hands, and knuckles were also covered with ink. He had a dark beard that didn’t match his hair color. At first glance, you’d think he was much older than he was, but it was his eyes that gave away his youth.
“What is it?” I asked, staring into the steaming bowl.
“Chicken broth. Drink it slowly so you can keep it down. How long has it been since you ate?” He crossed his legs at the ankles and rested his hands behind his head.
“Not sure.” I don’t know why but saying the words out loud made me feel ashamed in a way I hadn’t thought about before. “Days, I think.”
Hesitantly, I took the bowl from his hands. It was warm on my palms and instantly made the ache in my weak hands subside. I lifted it to my mouth slowly, relishing the feeling of the steam against my cheeks and the warmth of the liquid as it spread down my throat.
“Why are you even bothering with feeding me?”
“You say you’re not a junkie, but your fucking ribs are practically poking through your skin, and I could sharpen my knife on that collar bone of yours. King’s not the kind of guy who starves someone to death.”
“So, he’s not going to kill me?” I asked, hopefully.
“Didn’t say that. Just said he wouldn’t starve you to death. Bears crew has a lead on the redhead. If we catch up to her and we find out you weren’t in on it, he might let you go.”
“Might?”
“He’s not the most predictable guy, and he’s been away for a few years. Hasn’t been acting like himself, so there’s no telling what’s running through his head right now.”
“Years?” That’s when I remembered that the party last night was supposed to be a coming home party. “Where was he?”
“State.”
“College?”
“Prison.”
Prison made much more sense than college.
“What did he do?” I was pushing my luck by even asking. But I thought that maybe, if I knew more about King—knew what made him tick—I would have more of a chance of convincing him to let me go.
“You sure ask a lot of questions, little girl. Why do you want to know?”