Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90899 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 454(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Liar. Anthony is a liar. About everything!
Were Bailey Anne and Harold even his friends? Were any of the stories they told true? They seemed sincere, but so did Anthony when he was watching me across the table, like all he wanted in the whole world was for me to know that he was someone I could trust, and he was lying the entire time!
An outraged sound bursts from my chest, followed by a soft sob. Because I love him. I still love him, even if the man I thought I loved is a lie.
I swipe at the tears on my cheeks, trying to focus on my next steps. I know how to handle myself in a crisis. You just put one foot in front of the other, focusing on the next best step until you’re through the hard parts and have a chance to recoup and take a deep breath.
First, I have to get Pudge and get out of the apartment before Anthony realizes I’ve left the club and comes looking for me. I’ll just grab the cat carrier, enough food to get Pudge through the night, and head right back down to the street. Sydney is several inches taller than I am and at least twenty pounds lighter, but she’ll have some pajamas I can wear.
Even if she doesn’t, I’d rather sleep naked than take the time to pack and risk running into Anthony. I can’t look at him right now. If I do, I have no idea what I’ll say, what I’ll—
“Hey lady, stop right there. Hands up.” The voice is young, wobbly, and cracks on the word “there,” but the sight of a skinny figure in a black ski mask stepping out of the shadows in front of me is enough to stop me in my tracks.
The kid can't be more than fourteen or fifteen, but he’s holding a gun. Or something that looks like a gun. I’m not an expert in firearms, but my uncles all hunt and—
“Is that a Super Soaker?” I ask, the words out before I can think better of interrogating the person trying to mug me.
“What? No! It’s a— It’s…” The boy’s voice cracks again as he jabs the orange-tipped “weapon” forward. “Just give me your purse, okay?”
“I don’t have any money or credit cards in my purse. Just my cell phone and it’s almost as old as you are. You won’t get more than twenty bucks for it. Tops,” I say, part of me insisting I’m crazy for haggling with a criminal, but my gut says this kid is more scared than I am. “But if you want to walk me back to my place, I can get you a sandwich or something else to eat. Are you hungry?”
“No. Well, yeah, but it’s not… I mean, that’s cool, but…” He sucks in a breath, hitching his chin up as he puffs up his chest. “Look, just give me your money, okay? I know you have money. You have to. You’re obviously rich as hell, lady. Okay? Just give me whatever you’ve got, and nobody has to get hurt.”
“I’m not worried about getting hurt. At least not by that water gun.”
“It could be full of acid,” he says, his eyes glassy behind the holes in his mask.
I arch a brow. “Is it full of acid?”
He exhales, hesitating for a beat before mumbling, “No.”
“I didn’t think so. Acid would melt through that plastic reservoir pretty quick.” I take a careful step forward. “Listen, you seem like a decent person, okay? It’s not too late to make some different choices here. I—”
“That necklace,” he cuts in, his eyes widening as his gaze fixes on my neck. “That’s worth something. It has to be. Just give me that, and I’ll go.”
My fingers fly to the hollow of my throat, feeling the cool, comforting heaviness of the charm Anthony gave me earlier. I have no idea how much it’s worth, but it obviously wasn’t cheap. I mean, it could be a fake—Anthony’s lied about everything else—but it doesn’t feel fake.
And even if it is, it still means something to me. It was given to me by a man I’m crazy in love with.
Even if that love turns out to be foolish, it was still real. For me.
“This was a gift,” I whisper, my chest tight. “From a man I love, who I just found out has been lying to me from the moment we met. Maybe that should make it less valuable to me, but it doesn’t. It’s also the first gift I’ve ever received from a man who wasn’t my father. And I’m twenty-four, almost twenty-five. How sad is that?”
He grunts. “My dad left when I was seven, and he never gave me shit.” He lifts the orange tip of his gun again. “I’ll take the necklace, lady. Now. I need it more than you, I promise. Please.” He sucks in a breath, and when he speaks again, he sounds like he’s about to cry. “Please, I can’t go home without something.”