Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83519 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 418(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Since when did men become such pussies?
I’m agitated, irritated beyond measure, as I lock the door to my room behind me.
Despite knowing I’ll be more exhausted in the morning than I am now, I force myself into the shower before climbing between the itchy sheets.
Maybe tomorrow I can head out of town. A trip back to Kansas may be in order. It’s been a very long time since I visited my hometown. My skin starts to itch again with thinking of the pain that place causes me.
It may be exactly what I need to get back on an even keel.
Chapter 13
Angel
I haven’t gone far from Farmington in the last week.
Tracking a ghost might seem impossible, but there are ways to get it done.
Without William Varon using credit cards, I’ve had to resort to old-fashioned hunting. It draws more attention to myself, and I’m not fond of that aspect of it, but you can’t really wave a picture around town without people taking notice.
He’s here, but for some reason he hasn’t made a fucking move.
Something inside of me that was mastered a very long time ago tells me that tonight is the night he makes his move. I have that same feeling running down my spine that I got when my grandfather would look over at me displeased about something or the way the air felt in the house on certain mornings before I even got out of the bed.
I ignore the burn on my back, knowing it’s phantom pain. The jagged mark was made over twenty years ago, a punishment by dear old grandaddy because I was unable to control my father’s actions. If my father hadn’t killed my mother, he’d be around instead of leaving my lessons up to an old man. My grandfather never let me forget what a fucking burden my presence was. Each day was a reminder. Each day marked with pain and a level of education I never asked for.
I parked my truck around the block, and just like it was difficult to stay hidden at Varon’s house in Telluride, it’s difficult now outside Sylvie Davis’s house. Spade, the same Cerberus member that accompanied her to Colorado, is inside with her now. I don’t know if they’ve just gotten complacent or if they’ve gotten intel about Varon’s whereabouts that I’m not privileged to, but there is no longer a Cerberus SUV parked out front.
They’re in there alone, and this would be the time that he’d strike. The man is egotistical enough to think he could take on one club member, but not dumb enough to think he could manage any more than that. I have no idea what Varon’s mental state is these days, but knowing he’s been lurking around town is a clear indication he’s not thinking straight.
He’s had more than enough time to leave the country, but he hasn’t taken it. For some reason, he seems desperate to seek revenge. Sylvie Davis has nothing to do with his true self being discovered, but he’s a narcissistic piece of shit and needs to blame someone other than the woman he killed before leaving Telluride.
A shadow moves across her lawn, but I hold tight in the darkness, having found a better vantage point behind a tree in her neighbor’s yard.
My heart doesn’t race. I don’t wonder about different outcomes. I’m not concerned about Sylvie Davis or her male companion inside.
What I do work through my head is how I need to react. Killing this man could bring a storm of hell into my own life, but as easily as he could’ve disappeared, so could I.
I didn’t have to stick around town after dropping that little girl off. I could’ve easily headed back to Texas or found a different job, but something about this man bothers me. The outcome of what he did doesn’t seem settled.
It’s not Greta. That stupid bitch had the chance to leave, and rather than hauling ass out of town, she walked right back into the lion’s den. Look where it got her? Fucking dead.
As much as I don’t want to think about it, I know it’s the little girl.
I didn’t get details about what happened to her, but I know she suffered. I doubt she was just beaten. Men like William Varon don’t keep pretty little girls in captivity because they want daughters. They’re there for horrible reasons.
Instead of breaking in like I expect, Varon rings the doorbell like he’s an old friend or someone delivering a fucking pizza.
The balls on this man.
I hear yelling from inside the house just as the front door opens. It isn’t Spade standing in the doorway but a frozen Sylvie Davis. She looks utterly terrified, as she should. It makes me wonder what Lauren would do in this situation. I have no doubt she’d pull a gun from thin air and put a bullet between Varon’s eyes, but Sylvie isn’t trained like Lauren is.