Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Once bodies began to pile up, that was when the cops came sniffing around, and cops were very bad for business.
“I couldn’t let him go,” I said to the girl. “You had to know that.”
She looked up at me, her eyes red, tears on her cheeks. “Fuck you. You didn’t have to take me. Fuck you.”
I nodded once. “Yeah, I didn’t have to, but I wanted to,” I said. “You’ll thank me for it.”
“Fuck you,” she said again and looked away.
I sat forward and let out a sigh as Steven glanced at me, a frown on his face, but said nothing.
Fucking Roger. Fucking Aida.
I should’ve left her there in that parking lot. She was a liability, and I knew she would eventually cost me something more than I was willing to pay.
But I didn’t have the heart.
Maybe it was weakness, or maybe it was something else. But the idea of cutting her loose was worse than the alternative. She hated me at the moment, and I couldn’t blame her. I’d hate me too if I had done that. But she’ll come to understand why I did what I did, and maybe she’ll forgive me.
Doesn’t matter either way. I killed her father to avoid further bloodshed. There was no getting around that one. He had to die, even if I personally would’ve forgiven the stupid bastard. Vlas wanted his head, and so Vlas would get the fucking head.
Bastard dug his own grave. That wasn’t me.
We drove through the silent, rain-slicked Philly streets, and I thought about what it felt like to lose my own parents, their blood sticky thick in my memory.
2
Aida
I woke in a strange bed in a strange room tangled in light blue scratchy sheets. I was still in my jeans and tank top, and I kicked away the blanket as I sat up and stared at my surroundings.
The walls were white and bare. There was a small closet with an old brown door in one corner. A nightstand sat next to the bed with my phone on top of it. There was a dresser with chipped gray paint and one missing drawer. A fake sunflower sat in a vase on top of it. I stared at the fake flower for a long moment as the memories of the night before came creeping back.
I saw Dante smiling at me, moving closer, his lips nearly brushing mine as he whispered in my ear. I felt the thrill run down my spine as that handsome monster moved closer. He was tall, muscular, hair casually swept back, light blue eyes almost smiling, almost laughing. His full lips never quite pulled into a full grin though, always a sideways approximation.
Then I heard the gunshot again. I saw them wrapping Dad up in a sheet of plastic.
I shut my eyes and tried to push it away.
Slowly, I got out of bed. My sneakers were on the floor nearby. I walked over, picked them up, and grabbed my phone. I tested the doorknob, found it unlocked, and stepped out into the hall. The hardwood floor creaked as I moved, and I winced with every noise, but I tried to move as quietly as I could. I passed a bathroom on the right, another bedroom on the left, and came to a set of stairs that led down. I hesitated, listening, before creeping down them as slowly as I could.
When I got to the bottom, I could see the front door. A big half-moon window sat at the top, covered with a light blue curtain. It was painted red, the knob was gold, and it looked like it was new. I took one step toward it before I heard a noise and looked over my shoulder down a short hall.
Standing framed in a doorway was Dante.
I wanted to scream. Instead, I squared my shoulders and looked at him with all the hate I could muster, which was a lot in the moment.
I didn’t love my dad. He’d barely been around when I was growing up. I was raised by my mother until I was sixteen. She died of cancer that year, and at the end of her life, my dad began to show up more and more. He wasn’t a good person, was drinking half the time, and high the rest of it, but he was there for my mother emotionally at least. He talked to her when she was afraid, soothed her when she was sick, and held her hand at the very end. I hated him growing up, but in that moment, I gained a little bit of respect for him.
And then he moved in and took everything my mother left behind.
Bit by bit, he sold it all, blew through her money, and left me with nothing but the few things I could lock away in my room and keep from him.