Total pages in book: 131
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 122609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 613(@200wpm)___ 490(@250wpm)___ 409(@300wpm)
…Long rap sheet, including murder. Evidence: I saw the charges, docket number and judge’s name. I’m sure there’s more than one murder under his belt. That’s just the one he got caught for.
…Likes to travel. Evidence: People online all over the world have seen him, mentioned him. They’ve tagged him in their photos and posts. Hunting. Fishing. Concerts. People like him… They really, really like him. He’s the owner and CEO of a thriving business. No one speaks of any other occupation under his belt. They like the façade he presents to the world, not the real him. The real him he guards carefully. No one is allowed in. Evidence? He has erased his social media footprint. I am safely assuming it was when he became successful. Makes sense…
…Is a man whore. Evidence? None. But I know it to be true.
The last bit wasn’t factual, just a guess based on more than a few comments from thirsty women vying for his attention online, that is, when he had an active profile. She imagined him trouncing around Venezuela, Novosibirsk, and Brazil, collecting pussy as if on some scavenger hunt. He and his shady buddies hittin’ it and quittin’ it, while getting stoned and drunk out of their minds on expensive yachts and ski trips. Was that his lifestyle? International playboy? His media presence was wiped clean, yes, but that didn’t guarantee that his dick-matized female friends would keep his name, or his penis, out of their hot and bothered mouths. He had pretty boy privilege, and she was certain he was using it unwisely. If he is into that sort of thing, then he is used to women throwing themselves at him. I haven’t. Maybe that’s my way in?
This was the information she wanted and needed. Find out who he was and exploit it. The mission was to create a place where he felt safe and comfortable with her, so he’d ease up on the invisible dog collar around her neck. Every time she relaxed just a bit, he’d jerk it. Remind her she was not even close. Now, she sat in this unbelievable automobile, her body sliding against supple red leather, the scent of cherry cigars and Black Ice air fresheners around her. His unusual stereo system glowed in various shades of red and purple. Dials and buttons were illuminated in light, making everything inside glow in the same, dizzying shades. Speakers pulsed. They looked like orgasms singing songs. Out of them, drifted the lyrics and music of ‘Show Out,’ by Kid Cudi, Skepta, Pop Smoke. Lavender churns of smolder crept like twin ghosts from the sides of his mouth as he languidly held a pitch-black cigar between his long fingers. She stole a glance…
He was wearing a dark maroon leather jacket that could be mistaken as black under different lighting. Black sunglasses covered his light gray eyes, even though it was nighttime. She wondered why he was wearing them. Could he even see well? Maybe they were night driving lenses? She wasn’t a car expert, but there was no doubt what vehicle he was navigating. The car he was driving was a Rolls-Royce ghost, a limited edition. She’d seen one in a magazine at the doctor’s office.
He adjusted his nuts, leaned forward, and placed his cigar in the glowing red ashtray. He didn’t say a word. Her stomach growled and knotted—she regretted eating only half of the fruit in the bowl. She ran a shackled hand along her belly, grimacing at the dull pain. I’m famished.
“Why fruit?” she blurted out.
He glided his glasses to the top of his head, then switched lanes.
“…Because you hadn’t eaten, and havin’ somethin’ heavy on your stomach right then, like fried foods or big portions, could’ve made you sick.” She liked that he didn’t need an explanation to know what she was speaking about. He didn’t ask why she questioned him, or what triggered the memory, either. He likely didn’t care enough to do so.
“Why have you told me so much about yourself if you think I’m a threat to you?”
“I haven’t.”
“Well, I know your name. You confirmed that you’re a smuggler, amongst other things. You even made a business call in front of me.”
“The little you know about me means nothing in the grand scheme of things, and I felt comfortable telling you the things you do know because one, you were already lookin’ me up online, so you knew my name, and two, dead men can’t talk. You were supposed to be deceased before it even mattered.” He shrugged. “Now, you can do something for me, something I need, and that will spare your life, and your friend’s life. I won’t have to worry about you sayin’ anything after this is all over, either, because you know if I am in prison, in heaven, or in hell, I will get you… I will find a way to make sure that your friend, and anyone else you at least like or admire is snuffed out. You know I’ll do it, that I’m not bluffing. Besides, if you lose sight of the plan or go off the grid, you know the consequences. You’ve got to have some skin in the game.”