Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 87756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87756 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 439(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 293(@300wpm)
It wasn't over, not really. I mean I was going to take a step back and make sure I kept myself out of actual danger, but I wasn't done trying to find some answers. I would never be done, not until I found them. But I wasn't involving other people who could get hurt. Of course, common sense said I should probably let Sawyer get involved. He'd quickly dispatched of the guy who had attacked his brother and me. And while he was a dick, he definitely was intimidating. But, well, I didn't want to have to be in a room with him ever again if it was possible.
"Ever hear that phrase about trying to bullshit a bullshit artist?" Sawyer asked, sipping the full fat, sugar-filled coffee I bought myself as a treat. "You aren't over this case and I ain't letting you wade into the Third Street gang on your own."
"Third Street gang?" I asked, feigning innocence.
"Cory is one of their enforcers."
"Cory?" I asked, not able to help the laugh that escaped me. What kind of thug enforcer guy was named Cory? That was the name of a five year old boy, not some muscled, mean-spirited bully.
"Yeah, babe. Cory. And you can take that innocent act and shove it. You know damn well that what you're wrapped up with involves the Third Street gang. And don't think it's escaped my notice that you sent my brother on a job without giving him the information he needed to keep himself safe. That shit won't play. So real soon, you and me, we're having a sit down and you're spilling."
"Sawyer, enough," Barrett said, moving the bed to sit up straighter.
"Show up at my house or my work, I will call the cops. Stay the hell away from me if you value your freedom," I snapped, turning back to Barrett. "I'm sorry I got you beat up. I will have a check sent to you for your services. I hope you feel better soon." I turned and stormed out of the room, my heart slamming so hard in my chest I felt like I was choking on it.
It really was a lousy freaking week.
And it was only about to get worse.
--
"You're seriously not going to talk to me about it?" I asked, crossing my arms over my chest at my father's massive dining table, having just finished the last course and waiting for the coffee to be served. Coffee meant another fifteen minutes of tense conversation before I could finally hightail it the hell out of there and curl back into bed like I had been wanting to do since the moment I woke up that morning.
"There's nothing to talk about, Elsie. The matter is closed."
My father was intimidating in all ways. He was tall and kept up his body, despite most men his age deciding to 'let themselves go'. Those weren't words he even understood. He wore expensive suits from waking until sleep, only ever changing to get into gym clothes. His hair was cut expertly and was an attractive salt and pepper color that gave him the silver fox, not old man, look.
"How can the matter be closed, Dad? We can't just act like..."
"That is exactly what we will do. Is this all you have going on in your life? Get a hobby, Elsie. Work more hours. Get yourself a husband already. Stop harping on non-issues."
Anger for me was an extremely uncomfortable sensation of bugs under my skin, like I wanted to claw them out, like if I didn't, I would go insane. Very few people were capable of bringing out that feeling. My father, unfortunately, was one of those people.
"It's not a non-issue!" I shrieked as my dad's butler brought out the coffee on a cart and poured us each a cup.
"No need for the hysterics, Elsie," he said in a calm voice that made me want to reach across the table and slap him. That was his MO. He got all firm and demanding, got his opponent riled beyond reason, then accused them of being irrational. It worked every God damn time.
"You know what... fuck this," I said, standing so fast that my chair turned back and knocked into the coffee cart, splashing the liquid everywhere.
"Sit down," he said, his voice low and clipped.
I felt my body jolt, wanting me to do what it was told, what I was trained to do my entire life. But, for once, I wasn't going to give him the satisfaction.
"No. When you decide to find that shriveled little heart of yours and inflate it back to an acceptable human-size, then we can talk. Until then, you can take these Sunday dinners and shove them up your ass, Dad," I yelled, moving toward the door.
"Just like her," his voice followed me and I felt myself freeze.