Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 92254 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 461(@200wpm)___ 369(@250wpm)___ 308(@300wpm)
“You really are a curious fucking mouse.”
“I can’t help myself. I got arrested one time because of it.”
“What’d you do?”
“Trespassing. I was doing a little urban exploring—”
“Exploring?”
“You know, abandoned buildings and stuff.” She seems to relax slightly as she starts talking faster. “I was really into it before my mom got sick, but getting arrested kind of soured it, and then Mom’s diagnosis, and now I guess I just don’t have time. I miss it though, you know? Going places you’re not supposed to go. Seeing things most people never get to see.”
“Beautiful abandoned warehouses. Must be lots of fun.”
“You’d be surprised. There are tons of forums and subreddits devoted to urban exploring.”
“What happened to the arrest?”
“Judge let me off with a warning.” She looks down at her feet. “I’m not a bad person, you know.”
I don’t know why, but I find that very fucking funny. I laugh softly and she looks up, gaze slightly hurt as I come around the counter.
“I didn’t think you were.”
“What’s so funny then?”
“I’m a bad person, little thief. I’m a very bad person.” She pales slightly. Fuck, she’s so delicate. Thick, auburn hair, full lips, a splash of freckles across her cheeks. A body I’d fucking kill for.
A body I might have to kill.
“You could’ve hurt me when you caught me in here last time, but you didn’t.”
“No, I didn’t. This is a different situation.”
“I promise I’m not going to talk. Really, I have no reason to.”
I let out a long breath. “You have no idea who I am, do you?”
She shakes her head. “Not even a guess.” But there’s a look on her face.
“You want to know, don’t you?”
“No. I mean, it doesn’t matter.”
“It’s that curiosity thing again, isn’t it?”
“No. No!” She twitches slightly and looks away. “I can control it.”
I look up at the ceiling. This fucking girl. It’s like she wants to die.
“I’m in a bad position here. I don’t know if I can trust you. My instincts tell me to put a bullet in your head and make sure there’s no possible chance you’ll be a problem.”
“Please,” she whispers, blinking back tears. Her lower lip trembles. “My mom needs me right now.”
“I don’t want to do that,” I admit, not sure why the fuck I’m saying it out loud.
She meets my gaze and wipes her face. Her nose is a little snotty and it’s weirdly cute. She’s got a small stud piercing through her right nostril; I hadn’t even noticed until now.
“I can keep secrets. It’s what I do, right? I mean, I want to find them out, but then I heard them. I didn’t tell anyone about your money or your guns or even that I was in this place. I won’t tell them about what I saw.”
I want to believe her. I’m so fucking desperate to believe her. The last thing I want right now is to kill this girl. I’d rather pull her against me and taste her pretty lips and lick that nose piercing and make her say my fucking name.
But I’m a bad man and I don’t get to make selfish choices.
This is what I am. Sick, broken, torn to shreds between a dozen warring factions. The Brotherhood’s too tenuous and fractured right now to survive this girl making trouble.
I reach up to touch her. I’ll do it fast. Make it painless. Hell, I can be gentle when I need to be.
But I’m ruthless. My heart’s a stone, or whatever’s left of it.
Her mouth opens to say something else, but then she coughs lightly, and her skin turns even more pale.
“I’m sorry,” she blurts out, stepping back. “I think I’m about to puke.”
I stop moving toward her. “What?”
“I’ve been getting sick a lot lately. Oh, god, please—” She turns away and runs.
I stare after her for a beat before following. The bathroom door slams and I listen to her vomiting into the toilet and groaning in discomfort.
What the fuck?
I don’t know what to do. She gets sick again, spitting and groaning, and I knock gently.
“Are you okay?”
“Fine,” she croaks and spews a third time.
I head into the kitchen and get her some water. Why the hell am I getting her water? I should shove her head in the toilet and fucking drown her. Instead, I knock softly and open when she doesn’t answer.
She’s sitting with her back to the wall. Sweat beads on her forehead, and she smiles gratefully when I hand her the glass.
“Small sips,” I say. Except why does that matter? I could kill her and be done with it.
“Thanks.” She drinks a bit and seems more embarrassed than unwell. “I’ll be fine now.”
“Has that been happening a lot?”
“Just lately. I think it’s acid reflux. Probably from stress.”
“I guess things with your mother haven’t been easy.”
“Not even a little bit.”
I get up and head back into the kitchen. There are saltines in the cabinet. I bring them back and make her eat a couple. Once she’s feeling better, I steer her to the living room, even though she claims she’s totally fine now.