Total pages in book: 55
Estimated words: 51713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 51713 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 259(@200wpm)___ 207(@250wpm)___ 172(@300wpm)
“I think he—”
“That’s one fucked-up thing to say if you don’t know–”
“Yes. They fought and then your father died suddenly of what they said was a heart attack, but the autopsy didn’t confirm that. Then Missy started poking around and she died. He lied, said she left but I know she’s fucking dead. Everyone who goes against him disappears and I know it was him who broke into Kat’s house. I know for a fact it was him.”
“I don’t have evidence of everything, but I know he planted evidence in her home.”
“What did you do with it?”
“The coke? I dumped it.”
* * *
“When did you start thinking he killed my father?”
“It was only a thought a year ago when he died, but then it made sense when Missy disappeared. I just … I didn’t want to believe it.”
Cillian
Every memory I have of my uncle flashes before my eyes as I watch Kat and Reed share a glance. The fear that lingered in his gaze turned to comfort the moment he saw she was worried.
I don’t miss the way she speaks to him, with a tone and submissiveness I once thought she held only for me. And with the expectation that he’ll make it all okay. That he’ll fix it. That he’ll keep her safe.
“My uncle …” When I clear my throat the two of them stare back at me and Kat’s quick to place her hand in mine. I pull it under the table, squeezing it tight.
With a heavy breath, Reed looks between the two of us. I’ve never seen him look the way he does. I know four years changed us both, and neither of us for the better.
“It was just too much, too heavy … for it to be true.”
“What you’re saying …” I can’t even finish a fucking sentence. Something deep inside of me is screaming that it makes sense. That ever since my father died and my uncle didn’t even come in and see me, ever since then I knew.
Swallowing thickly I tell him, “Even if he’s not a rat, even if he’s not working both sides, if he killed my father, his only brother …” I leave the last part unsaid. I’ll fucking kill him.
Reed’s statement is spoken lowly, his eyes peering back with mourning. “I know.”
It’s silent for a long moment.
“Back in a minute,” Reed says, getting up from his seat. He heads down the hall into the main restaurant and when he opens the door, the din of the other patrons slips into our private room for a small moment until it’s quiet again.
Kat flips our hands so she’s holding mine. “You okay, Cill?” Her soft voice is the only sound I’ve wanted to hear all this time.
“Lots of memories here,” I say gruffly. It’s true. I used to come here with my dad. We would sit in this same room and talk about whatever came to our minds. Usually it was something to do with Cavanaugh or school. I thought we’d be doing this until he was an old man, but he never got the chance.
Now Reed’s saying it’s our own family who killed him. Anger scorches inside of me, rising up like a slow tide and exhaustion is the only thing keeping it down. If my uncle is behind all this, then I took the fall for nothing.
“I’m starting to doubt everything,” I admit to her. The statement comes with a wave of sadness and regret.
Her gentle murmur makes me take it back though, “Everything?” she asks. Her wide hazel eyes beg me not to regret her and damn, if she ever thought I’d give her up or that I would take back anything between us, she’s gravely mistaken.
With my fingers slipping under her chin, I whisper against her lips, “Not you, my little hellcat.” With a soft kiss against her lips, I add, “Not us.”
“What Reed just said is heavy and this place has to be difficult to be in,” she tells me once I drop my hand from her chin. Nestling in next to me, she molds her side to mine, but stares at the door.
“Yeah, it’s getting to me.” I bite my tongue before saying the second half: and I believe Reed.
“You want to go home?” Kat murmurs.
“Not yet.”
I want to sit here until I figure something out. I don’t know what, exactly. Just something. I don’t want to take this unsettled feeling back to her place with us.
The owner pokes his head in the door before coming out to see us. The sight of Nello makes my lips pull up in an asymmetric smirk. He’s older than I remember him, with gray hair around his temples that was never there before and wrinkles around his eyes when he grins and says, “Cillian, how are you doing, young man? Is there anything I can get you?”