Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 60663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 60663 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 303(@200wpm)___ 243(@250wpm)___ 202(@300wpm)
“I-I don’t want t-trouble. I hate the fact you even kn-know who I am,” I stutter. “I keep a low profile for a reason.”
I turn and reach for the handle and this time it’s unlocked. As soon as I’m out of the car, I hurry away, not looking back. I make it to the edge of the river before I hear footsteps behind me. When I turn, Kyson is there. He holds out his hand, and I see the bottle I stole—it only has dregs left, but I take it anyway. I need something in my system to keep me warm once I’m kicked out of the motel and have no place to live.
“Go and shower. I bet your pussy stinks like rotten eggs.”
What type of man even says that to a woman? I shake my head at him.
“You are such a pig. You know that?” I take a step back as he steps forward. He leans into me, and I can smell him. He smells fresh, clean, with something else I can’t quite put my finger on.
“And you do stink,” he whispers. He only pulls back slightly as his hand moves between us. He pushes me, and I miss a step on the ledge as I fall backward, landing in the water. The bottle drops from my hand, and I scream as I hear him chuckle.
“Someone needed to clean that pussy. Respect the pussy,” he calls as he walks off.
I manage to climb out of the water, and when I look in the direction where the car was, he and his brothers are gone.
What a dick.
Five
Kyson
“Care to tell us more about the girl and why she’s still breathing?” Kenzo asks as we pull up to Zuko’s.
We all remain in the car.
“Not particularly. I don’t even know her name.”
“Kalilah,” Kenzo tells me. “It was on her ID, and after some searching, that is her real name, but she is currently using a fake last name.” He pauses, waiting for me to speak. When I don’t, he asks, “What’s your fascination with her?”
“I don’t have one.”
Zuko huffs from the driver’s seat and then gets out. Kenzo stays seated as Zuko walks off.
“You seem to be hiding a lot of stuff from me lately,” Kenzo adds.
He’s not wrong. I’ve been thinking of getting out of this life. But I love it. It’s a double-edged sword. I’m not sure if I want to do this for the rest of my life, and that’s my main issue. I know my brothers do because they were born to do this, but I feel more reserved about it.
Not that I’m not as good at the job as they are or anything like that.
It’s more of…
It fucks up my life.
Out of the three of us, I always thought it would be me who would end up in a relationship, not Zuko. He’s the coldest of us all, and yet there he is, hating spending time apart from Alaska and walking away from us without even a goodbye. The killing part I have no issues with, and to be frank I don’t think I ever will. That’s the part I struggle with the most. I’m good, and we are the best at what we do. But I also feel that it’s not something I should be doing. If I want all the normal things in life, how could I chose to be a killer? It makes no sense—even in my brain.
“We aren’t the same.” And Kenzo knows it’s the truth. While we may be twins, we have grown apart in more ways than one. We lived together for many years, and even then, somehow things just changed, so it was natural to get our own places. But I didn’t realize with that also came less and less time when we would actually see each other. Not that I need to see my brother every day, but the only time lately I do see him is when we’re on the job. And that’s not the best time to talk. I think this is the most we’ve spoken to each other in months.
“You have your own life, and I have mine. You don’t go out of your way to call or see me,” I repeat what I said on the way to the hit.
“Neither do you.”
“Lies,” I tell him.
He huffs.
“In the beginning, I called you almost every week, but you hardly answered,” I remind him.
He scratches his chin at my words.
I open the car door and slide out.
“I did some digging,” he says, making me pause. “Seems your friend is broke. Dead broke. Not a cent to her name. My guess is that’s why she was at the wedding and why she was drunk. She’s either homeless or about to be if the motel hasn’t kicked her out yet.”
I look back over my shoulder at him.