Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“I know.” I’ve never seen someone so uncomfortable with blood.
I rejoice in it. To me, there is nothing sweeter than blood. It’s a life-giving force, one that is taken for granted. Blood can be grisly and can make you turn away in disgust. But not me. The gore gives me a visceral sensation with the gut-wrenching scene it displays. It evokes an image of a madman carrying out his carnage and loving every minute of it. Reveling in it. The surreal sight of a room sprayed with blood evokes all kinds of images in my mind, but most of all it brings out the devil to play.
For someone to let you cut them and watch as their blood leaves their body is unlike anything you could ever experience. Killing and fucking are my love languages.
Each have their own purpose in my life.
One is to make me hard.
One is to make me happy.
Which one does which… Well, I’m not sure I’m ready to disclose that yet.
“So what do you want from me?” she asks.
“I want you to start walking to get off this fucking path.” I reach for her again, this time taking her hand without her pulling away and turning, tugging her along with me. She follows without argument, and I don’t let her go until we reach the hotel. “When do you leave?” I ask as we get into the elevator.
“Later today,” she answers, not once lifting her gaze to me. I want to tilt her chin toward me so I can look into those fucked-up eyes.
“Good.”
We get off on our floor, and as soon we’re in the room, she goes into the bathroom. I grab my things, drop a tip on the bed, and walk out.
Leaving her there.
“It’s a dog,” I tell my twin as he glares at the mutt next to me.
“I know what it is. Why the fuck is it in your house?” The dog starts growling at Kyson, who shakes his head and steps back.
“It wouldn’t go away, so I started feeding it. Now it thinks I own it.”
“It’s a mutt,” he says.
I rub the top of its head.
“The best-damn-looking mutt you will ever see,” I say, grinning.
“Hold up. What the fuck is that?” Kyson points to my hand, the one that is patting my new dog that I never wanted yet somehow have and can’t seem to get rid of. It wants to eat everything and growls at everyone but me.
Weird.
“What?” I ask, confused.
“You have on a fucking wedding ring! Don’t you what me.” He points to my hand again, and I lift it from the dog’s head.
It’s been two weeks since I left Mayve in that hotel room in Vegas. I haven’t heard from her, but I have seen her. She hasn’t seen me, though.
“I got married in Vegas,” I tell him casually.
He strides up to me and punches me straight in the stomach. The dog growls and lunges for him, but I catch it by the collar and pull it back before it can bite Kyson.
“You got married and didn’t tell me? You were in Vegas weeks ago, asshole.” He leans down and growls back at the dog before his focus returns to me. “Who the fuck is she?”
“We went to school with her actually. Little thing with fucked-up eyes.”
“What?” His brow scrunches with confusion.
“Mayve Hitchcock,” I tell him.
“The one who was always with that druggie girl?” he asks.
I nod. I forgot about her friend. But then again, I forgot a lot of people from back then.
“Why the fuck would you marry her?”
“You told me to do some good. That was my good. She needed help. I helped.”
“Hmm…” He hums, stepping back with a smirk on his face. “And you still have the ring on,” he comments. “And now you have a dog.”
I pat the dog’s head as it sits beside me, giving Kyson a small growl. “Yes. And?”
“I’m going back to my girls. You do you.” He waves a hand at me and stops at the door. “I like the house.” He gives the dog a menacing look. “Not the dog, though. Get rid of it.” The dog growls at him, and I can’t help but chuckle.
Maybe I’ll keep the mutt after all.
Thirteen
Mayve
A man is standing in front of me, blocking my path to my door. Trust it to be the day I was at the office to arrive home to have someone standing there. But it’s not Kenzo. It’s someone who looks like him. I’m unsure how I know when no lights are on, and he is standing in the dark. The sight makes me realize the figure is all him, but it’s also not. And I hate that I can tell the difference.
“I take it you know who I am,” the figure says as I pause, keeping some distance between us.