Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77841 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
I miss her soft breathing. I miss the sight of her sweat glistening skin after a run on the treadmill. I miss the moans she makes when she comes. I miss everything about her. There's not one recollection of her that comes to mind that I don't ache to experience all over again.
I turn and glare at the crack in the sidewalk, like it's its fault I stumbled and not the alcohol I can't seem to say no to these days. If this is how my life is going to be, I'd rather be dead. Misery isn't a strong enough word to describe how I feel without her.
The regret I felt, watching her leave that motel room, has nothing on the misery I feel right now. I was hasty in my decision to do what I did. Angel’s words seemed like law, as if letting her go was my only option. I was too quick to give in to that side of me, to the part of me that has always only looked out for myself.
I knew it was going to be bad. I just had no clue it was going to be this bad. I didn’t know her walking away would make it hard to breathe. I didn't know her leaving would make it damn near impossible to function.
New Orleans no longer holds the same appeal it used to. Before Raya, I would escape here. I would walk down Bourbon Street and try to blend in. Pretending was the game, whether it be a college frat boy or just a drunken idiot, I knew how to play the part. Only as I stumble for the third time, I realize I'm no longer playing a part. I'm just one fool of many, only I'm not smiling and laughing and having a good time.
“Watch where the fuck you’re going,” I growl when some douchebag runs into me.
A slow smile spreads across my face when he turns to glare rather than ignore me like others have done in the past. My arm strikes out, my fist hitting him in the nose. Before I can listen to the reasoning side of my brain, that says getting into a fight will no doubt have a horde of cops on me in ten minutes, the guy stumbles, his hand immediately reaching up to stanch the blood flowing from his nose.
He's wide-eyed and surprised, floored that I had the audacity to hit him. I walk away as my phone starts to ring. I've been waiting for this phone call for over thirty-six hours
“About fucking time,” I growl into the phone when the call connects. Silence fills the line and I have to pull the phone away to make sure that the call is still connected. “Do you have what I need or not?” I snap.
“You sure are in a foul mood for someone who needs a favor,” Hollis says, making my irritation multiply.
“Hollis,” I snap. “Did you find what I need or not?”
“You’re going to owe me one.”
“Of course,” I quickly agree, knowing the return favor will never come to fruition because I'll be impossible to find once I'm done.
I hated reaching out to him in the first place. Asking for help is something that I never do. After the devastation of asking Angel for help, I was certain I would never do it again. But Hollis has more connections than I do. He has the ability to find information I can't.
I'm not a computer genius. It's why I reached out to Angel for work in the first place. I was never very efficient on the research side of things. After a little more prodding and Hollis acting like he's doing me the biggest favor in the world, I get the information that I need—a name, an address.
He doesn’t ask me questions. He doesn't ask me why I need the information. It wouldn't matter if I gave it to him anyway. I plan on being a ghost after this. He’ll know soon enough if he’s paying attention, if he's the type of man to follow up.
I end the call without saying thank you. I have no gratitude for anything anymore. Besides, it was a business transaction, not one man doing a favor for another.
The urge to get in my car and head to Austin is hard to fight, but I'm drunk. Killing a family or ending up in jail before I can give Raya this last gift, isn't an option.
Somehow without altercation, I make it back to my hotel room. Raya has never been in this room but the sight of the bed still makes me miss her.
The gun on the bedside table would cure so many problems. Knowing I'll still have it with me after I'm done in Austin is the only thing that keeps me from using it right now.