Total pages in book: 52
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 48018 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 240(@200wpm)___ 192(@250wpm)___ 160(@300wpm)
Bobby’s head jerks up as he looks at Angelo. “Hey, I fucking found her. You lost her. All your fancy fuckin’ nerds couldn’t find her.”
“You were looking for me?” I am surprised. I did not realize that.
“We were keeping an eye on you, until you became itinerant, at which point you were difficult to find. We do owe Bobby credit for finding you.”
“Saving her fuckin’ life, you mean,” Bobby says with reluctant pride. “I don’t think I ever saved anyone’s life before.”
“You probably have not,” Angelo notes with amusement.
“I’m your hero,” Bobby informs me.
“You are,” I have to agree.
The agency abandoned me. My colleagues sent me a shitty card and then let my life fall apart. I ended up unemployed and homeless. That’s what loyalty to the federal government got me. On the other hand, I spent 72 hours with Angelo and Bobby, and they came for me when I needed them. Maybe it was only luck that they found me, but they did find me.
I am aware that Angelo’s home is not a place for waifs and strays. They have taken pity on me, but Angelo is still a calculated man and I am sure he has his reasons. I would prefer to be with someone who has a nefarious plan for me than work for an agency that declares me useless.
Angelo will take me broken. The rest of the world wants me to pretend that I am fine, and that nothing fundamental was taken from me with that stray bullet. We have not spoken about it, but I know he knows. I know they both know.
There is something about a broken woman that screams to the world, draws predators near, and makes shadows collapse around her. Angelo has shown me mercy, but that mercy will not last forever. Sooner or later, he will break me of my brokenness. He will send me to the very pits of hell, and he will elevate me above the world that rejected me. I see these promises in his eyes and I know my evolution is incomplete.
12
One day, it happens, not exactly as I thought it would, but precisely as it needs to.
Angelo taps my knee lightly. “Let’s go for a drive.”
I go with Angelo, because where he is concerned, the word no is no longer in my vocabulary. I follow him about like a puppy and find myself anxious if we are separated for too long.
He has indulged my need to be close. He is a cruel and demanding master at times, but he also has more understanding and care than most of the men I have known in my life. It is not possible for him to be as evil as he occasionally is without him also having the capacity for compassion.
“Can I come?”
“Not today, Bobby,” Angelo says. “Today is for Riley.”
I wonder where we are going. Some little voice in my head pipes up with the word ice cream, but I don’t think that is what is on the agenda.
Angelo has made sure I am well fed and comfortably clothed. I am wearing a very nice brown houndstooth skirt and a white blouse with a froofy sort of bow tie at my chin. My hair has been cut short due to the damage it sustained when I was running wild, as Angelo calls it, and sits neatly close to my head in a haircut reminiscent of Twiggy. Mascara and eyeliner highlight my eyes, and red lipstick makes my lips pop. When I catch a glimpse of myself in one of the house’s many mirrors, I see a sophisticated woman who shows no sign of the deprivations I have endured.
Angelo drives. I take the passenger seat, and together we spin off through the countryside in a very jolly sort of way. Sometimes, and indeed, more and more often, I forget about the mastermind criminal, ruthless vengeful monster side of Angelo. He does not often show it to his own, and certainly far less to me than to Bobby who often needs a reminder as to who is in charge.
“How are you feeling?”
The question is strange coming from a man like him. Angelo very rarely needs to ask how I am feeling. He has an almost supernatural ability to read people. Which means he’s not asking me how I am. He’s asking me how I think I am, which I have already made a more complicated question.
“Good,” I say.
“In what way?”
“I’m not starving. I’m not afraid. I’m…” I almost hesitate to say the word. “Happy.”
“That happiness has been hard won,” Angelo observes. “But I wonder if it has been truly cemented.”
“What do you mean?” I can tell that he is trying to make a point. I am surprised that we seem to be driving into the city. We’ve avoided civilization since he and Bobby plucked me from beneath the bridge.