Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 145231 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 726(@200wpm)___ 581(@250wpm)___ 484(@300wpm)
I force back a groan, turning my gaze away. Here, the ocean stretches on as far as the eye can see, a glinting blue carpet that’s perfect for swimming or boating or whatever people do here when they have time and money for fun.
I wonder idly how much Evelyn lost last night.
A metric fuckton, probably.
I kept my distance, watching from the shadows, knowing casino security was too tight to try anything then. She bounced around the entire floor, hitting everything from roulette to blackjack to flashy celebrity branded slots.
She should’ve known her luck wouldn’t last. Winning streaks never do. It’s basic math in gambling. What comes up must come down, and it happens much faster when you’re pissing away money in games where the house always wins.
Eventually, after I’ve been sitting around for hours, slowly burning to a crisp, she pushes up from her lounge chair, plops her book in her bag, and leaves a few crisp bills on the table for the server. A nice tip she can easily afford with her ill-gotten gains.
Fucking finally.
That’s my cue to pack my shit up, too, keeping a careful eye on her as she walks along the road. Back to the hotel, probably, or maybe to the beach for one last walk before sunset.
I pull out my phone and make a quick call.
Thankfully, it isn’t busy in the offseason.
As soon as she turns onto an empty street, I pick up my pace, closing on her fast.
She barely has time to turn around before I’ve grabbed her arm, dragging her into a nearby alley.
It stinks—just like every trash-filled alleyway everywhere—a reminder of the grim reality staring me in the face.
Paradise my ass. Even here, there’s plenty gone rotten.
“Patton?” she gasps. Her eyes bug out as they focus.
There’s no point in trying to escape. I’m holding her too tightly, and it feels good to dig my fingers in until she gasps.
I hope her squirming leaves a bruise.
I’m not a cruel man, no, but she hurt my son.
“Hello, Evelyn,” I clip. From the way her eyes widen, my smile must look as vacant as it feels. “Thought you’d escaped with our money, huh?”
“Patton, please. Think what you’re doing,” she whispers, her hands fumbling at my grip helplessly.
“I’ve given that plenty of thought, lady.” I slam her against the wall, savoring the fear flashing across her face. She looks like she’s about to faint, but I’ve known her a long time. Evelyn Hibbing isn’t the kind to clock out. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t.”
“Oh, dearie, oh God, I… I suppose you must be very angry with me.” She shifts back to her usual innocent sounding babble. I wonder if it’s always been an act. “Yes, I did you wrong, of course. But I think—if you let me go, maybe it’s not too late to get her jewelry back. I’ll lead you right to it.”
“You read my mind,” I snap. “Trouble is, I know you’ve already sold it, and I also know where. I don’t need your help.”
“What? Oh, yes, well…” Panic fills her voice as she gives up trying to break my hold and glances down at her bag. “But it’s recoverable, Patton. I just know it. If you’ll simply let me—”
Enough.
I grab her wrists and pin them to the wall.
The stone feels scalding under my fingers, and her skin feels thin and papery.
“What’s in there?” I ask, nodding to the bag. “Mace? Were you going to burn my face off and try to run? Are you that predictable?” I lean in, putting my face too close to hers. She smells like alcohol, some chocolatey liquor that was in her coffee drink.
“Patton, please. You’re scaring me.”
“Good.” I stare at her until she shrinks back. “Listen, I’m not here because you stole Mom’s jewelry and fucked her over. I could’ve let the police handle that.” I tighten my grip on her and lower my voice. It’s either this or give in to the temptation to roar in her face, but I’m deathly quiet as I say, “But there are no words in the world that will make me forgive you for trying to kill my son.”
“Kill him? Oh, no, I—” She stops. Her mouth hangs loosely as she stares at me. I think she’s tracing the features Arlo and I share, if she isn’t trying to find a flimsy excuse for trying to murder a child. “I wasn’t trying to kill him,” she whispers haltingly. “Just… enough to make him sick and—and of course I hated it! But I needed a diversion, and—”
“A diversion? How?”
I shake her.
Her lips quiver. “His juice! I slipped in the slightest concentrate when no one else was looking. Just enough to cause an upset tummy, his heart was never in any danger, I made sure. I never wanted to hurt the boy too badly, I swear.”