Total pages in book: 66
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64640 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 259(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Should he die tonight, like the scum he is on the dirty cement ground?
Or maybe another day?
Kyson removes his foot from Ronaldo’s back and bends down until he is in his face.
Kenzo slides his gun back in place and walks over to his twin.
“You have two days, then we’ll be back. You better have paid your dues and said your goodbyes.” Kyson reaches for his face and kisses his forehead before he pulls back.
And we all know what that means. He’s just given him the kiss of death.
Kyson is going to be the one to kill him.
I remember the first time I saw him do that. He was barely an adult, technically still a teenager. He came to one of my jobs with me. He was talking to the guy, then leaned down and kissed his forehead, whispered something to him before he stood, and smashed his head into the ground with his boot, effectively fucking him up. He finished him off with a shot to the head.
Really, when you think about it, it’s all fucked-up shit.
But we love it.
TWELVE
Alaska
His text comes through, and my body freezes as I see it.
Show me what you look like.
I stare at that text all day.
I’ve lied to him about what I look like because it’s what I had to do. I told him I have blue hair, and that’s obviously not true. Though I have had blue hair in the past, just not right now. Sitting at my table with salad in front of me, I search the internet for the most realistic picture I can find of a woman with blue hair, and then I change the tones of the lighting before I send it to him. Immediately after I click send, I see he’s read the message.
What is he doing?
Does he like what he sees?
And what do I care anyway.
It’s not me.
The last time I saw this man, I ran from him—as far away as I could possibly get—and it’s been weeks since that night. I’ve spoken to him once over the phone, granted he didn’t know it was me, and he spoke about the “real me” to me. It was… interesting.
Zuko is someone I should stay away from.
I know in my mind that it’s a wise decision, but I just can’t seem to get him out of my head.
Not only is he a god with his mouth, but the man also makes my head go crazy with thoughts of him, and a part of me wonders if what he wants to do with me would be enjoyable.
No, that can’t be right.
My mind is playing tricks on me.
Good Lord, he put a knife in my damn pussy!
That is insane.
Fucking crazy.
Deranged.
Who does that? Oh, that’s right, Zuko does.
I put my phone down when he doesn’t respond for a good fifteen minutes, and I wonder what he thinks of her. Is she pretty to him?
But then my phone dings, and when I check it, I suck in a breath.
It seems you are a liar. I wonder what else you are…
How could he know that?
There is no way. He can’t be that tech-savvy, can he?
I grip my phone, push my food away, and stand as I reach for my bag. I’m wearing a long sweater that covers my work outfit, which I pull on the hem of as I leave to head for my night shift. It’s supposed to be a slower night tonight, but that’s what Jeff always says. He’s a fucking liar, and we all know his games.
When I arrive, I head straight for my locker, pull off my jacket, and stash it inside. I slide my phone into the back of my little shorts and after reaching for my boots, I pull them on. I keep them in my locker so I don’t have to walk around in them outside of the bar, unless I’m too lazy and end up taking them home.
“Do you ever fucking listen?” I whip my head around to Sarah, who’s eyeing my outfit.
This feels like déjà-fucking-vu.
Does this bitch need to get a life or what?
“Fuck off, Sarah.”
“You’re a dumb bitch, you know that, right,” she mutters. This idiot thinks she’s in charge because she spreads her legs for Jeff, and thinks she has the upper hand. But no matter what, Jeff won’t fire me, and I am not an idiot. Let’s face it I make more for his damn bar than any of the other girls. Sarah and Louise probably make the same amount, but they both work more hours than I do. I work the bare minimum to earn what I need, and then I’m out.
“I’ll slam your pretty smug face into this locker if I have to. Last warning,” I state, shutting the metal door with a loud bang and turning around to face her. Her black hair is slicked back, and her arms are tucked across her chest, pushing up her god-awful boob job. I warned her not to go cheap but like I said, the girl is an idiot. She’s applied heavy eyeliner that turns up at the edges, giving her a cat eye look and making her already hard face look harder. Paired with bright red lipstick—she looks like a damn whore.