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)
“I’d like to close out my safe deposit box please.”
She asks for the information along with my ID, and I have to pause for a second.
If the FBI is looking for me, this is going to flag in their system.
Knowing how far the nearest office is, I quickly hand over the identification, confident I can get out of here before they arrive.
She frowns as her eyes scan the computer screen.
“Box two-thirty-one?”
“Yes. Is there a problem?”
“That box has already been closed.”
My hands start to shake immediately. I wanted closure. The new direction I want to take my life demands it. Without the necklace and diary destroyed, I’ll never be able to move on. I’m certain of it.
“Closed? That’s not possible.”
“Just a few weeks ago,” she says, pointing at her screen as if I can see it from this side of the high counter.
“By whom?” I snap, my palms sweaty.
“Your husband. Angel Guerra.”
My heart fucking stops. I swear it. Not beating, no sound around me, nothing.
The rush of it all coming back nearly takes me to my knees.
The teller watches my face, and I’m able to see hers go from business to concern.
“Is everything okay, ma’am?”
I shake my head, but it’s more rejecting this entire situation than answering her questions.
“Are you unsafe? Now that I think about it, I remember the man that came in. Has he hurt you? I can call the police if you’re under duress.”
I back away from the counter.
She’d never understand my position, that Angel hurt me many times but I also liked it.
There’s no way a woman in a bright pink dress and lovely blonde curls haloing her face wouldn’t gasp at the bruises that man has put on my body or understand that I hate that the last ones are already fading.
“Did you say weeks ago?”
She nods, giving me the exact date. It’s the day after I climbed into the truck with Ryder, the guy I thought was boring, who also ended up being the ringleader of the group that abducted me.
“My mistake,” I tell her before turning around and hauling ass out of the damn bank.
Angel has my things.
I shouldn’t be surprised. I know I confessed about the stuff when I was drunk. I didn’t tell him that my hometown was in Dighton, but the man has to be skilled enough to track down that information with my legal name.
I practically handed it to him.
Emotions swirl inside of me, leaving me confused, wanting answers to questions I have no business even thinking.
Is this part of his game?
Did he do it to hurt me?
Does he want me back?
Can I survive not destroying them?
Can I just walk away and let it go? Let him go?
He took the things before he discovered that I was abducted. Does that mean he wanted me back then?
If that’s the case, then why did he cut me loose?
Nothing makes fucking sense.
I’ve always followed my gut instinct, and it’s kept me alive more than once, but my stomach is turning right now and I can’t translate what it means at all.
I duck down an alleyway, hoping I fly under the radar from the FBI long enough to get out of town.
I have no family here. My grandmother was my last living relative, and she died years ago.
No friends.
No family.
I could die today, and no one would notice.
The thought doesn’t bring the same relief that it normally does, and that’s one more reason to hate Angel.
I want him to miss me. I don’t want him to just be able to steal my stuff, cut me loose, and forget about me like I never existed.
As I walk, that hatred thickens inside of me. It makes my skin hot and feverish. It makes me vengeful.
That’s exactly what I need.
In order for me to move on from this, I have to end Angel Guerra once and for all.
Chapter 33
Angel
I believed Alan Moore, Lauren’s handler, when he told me the FBI had cut ties with her, but that hasn’t stopped me from tracking him. As far as I can tell, she hasn’t made contact.
He’s just one more dead end.
I fucking hate waiting. I’m a man of action.
These long days without her agitate me, and I have every intention of taking it out on her when she finally comes slinking back.
I’ll tie her to the bed for months if I have to. I’ll give her body enough of a workout that she won’t have to worry about atrophy.
I decided weeks ago that the woman was mine. My miscalculation was thinking that she wanted to stay. I know she likes my brand of attention. I know she craves it. I love giving it to her. I love abusing her body, taking out my own retaliation, and when she comes?
“Fuck,” I grumble, swiping a hand over the top of my head.
My balls ache for release. My fingertips itch to pinch and rip and shred.