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)
He drifted in and out of my life for years after that. I took care of myself, got a job after school. I was lucky that the house was paid off, and my aunt helped out as much as she could. I took some classes at the community college and got a job as a secretary for a law firm downtown, and things were looking okay for me.
Until my father came to me in the middle of the night three days ago and explained that if I didn’t help him, he would die.
I don’t know why I agreed. Maybe it was the memory of him holding my mother’s hand, stroking her hair, whispering soothing words in her ear. Maybe it was the way she looked at him and cried, and the way he didn’t pull back from those tears, but embraced her.
So I agreed to help him. I knew it might cost me everything, but I had to try, at least for her. I knew she’d want me to.
“Morning,” Dante said.
“Where am I?” I asked in a rush.
“My house,” he said, tilting his head to the side. “Do you remember last night?”
I nodded once. “I remember you killing my dad.” I choked on that last word and felt like an idiot, but didn’t turn away.
Dante looked at me for a long moment. He wore a tight black shirt and black gym shorts. His hair was pushed back, but there was a sheen of sweat on him, like he’d just been working out. I hated myself a little bit but my eyes roamed his body and I couldn’t stop the thoughts that ran through my mind.
His lips on my skin, his teeth biting my nipples, his hands gripping my ass.
“Come on, I made coffee and juice.”
I didn’t move. “I don’t want anything. I just want to go home.”
He nodded. “I get that. And I’ll let you go. But the orange juice is fresh, just squeezed it myself.”
I snorted. “You squeeze your own juice?”
“Sure. Better that way.” He gestured with his head. “Come sit with me.”
He walked away, disappearing into a back room. I got a glimpse of a kitchen counter and a living room beyond that, a big brown leather couch, and a flat-screen TV mounted above an antique fireplace with old-looking patterned green tiles all around it.
I turned and looked at the door. It was right there and it wasn’t locked. I could open it and run. Maybe he could catch me, drag me back kicking and screaming. Or maybe not, maybe I could get away. I could get to the bus, or call an Uber. I could stop at home, grab all my things, pull the money out from the back of my closet where I’d been hiding cash for the last few years, and move to some new city.
I could start over, away from the ghost of my mother, away from the specter of my father.
Instead, I turned and walked down the hall and stepped into a spacious open floorplan room.
On the right was the kitchen. It was modern with dark green granite countertops, a deep bone-white farmhouse sink, and all stainless-steel appliances. To the left was the living room, with that big brown couch and television. The decoration was simple, just a few thrift store paintings on the wall. I couldn’t help but frown at them as my eyes swept across the room and stopped on Dante.
He was drinking from a glass of orange juice. On the counter were more oranges, and a pitcher full of juice was next to them. I couldn’t help but shake my head when I realized that he really had squeezed his own orange juice.
“Try some,” he said. “It’s good.”
“No, thanks.”
“I have coffee too.” He gestured at a silver drip machine.
I hesitated then nodded. I sat down at the island on a wooden stool and put my shoes and my phone on the smooth granite top. He poured me some coffee in a mug and looked back.
“Cream, sugar?”
“Milk,” I said.
He nodded, got some whole milk from the refrigerator, and poured in a splash. He stirred it and put it down in front of me. For a second, I felt absurd. A mobster just got me some coffee and meticulously stirred in some milk like it was no big deal.
I took the coffee, sipped it, and met his gaze.
“We should talk,” he said.
“Why am I here?”
He smirked and stretched his massive, muscular arms. I noticed colorful tattoos move up his skin and disappear into his shirt. I couldn’t get a good glimpse at them, but I thought I saw a moon and a lion together, but I couldn’t be sure. “I’m pretty sure you’re supposed to be my wife, right?”
I flinched. “No. That was just… that was just my father trying to save his own life.”