Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
It’s rude of me to even complain. After all, I have a life much better than others. My time on earth has been fruitful thus far, albeit difficult. I’ve suffered bullies all while living in a broken home and no matter how positive I try to be, it seems the world is built to suck the positivity right out of me.
The only reason I think of a knock this late as unholy is because it means bad news. Nothing good can come from a knock on your door when it’s bedtime. However, I’m expecting these people.
Daphne and Ricardo.
They enter my house and Daphne immediately wraps her arms around me, smelling like toasted coconuts and vanilla. There are no words I can use to express how I feel as she hugs me tight. I want to tell her how I feel, to pour it all out, but this is beyond hurt, beyond shame, beyond anything I’ve ever subjected myself to. How do you explain the horror you faced as your husband stared you in the eye and choked you? How do you tell anyone that he used your flaws and weaknesses against you, called you names, berated and belittled you? How do you tell anyone that after all this time—when you thought your romance was happenstance and that you were the luckiest woman in the world—it is possible, that the man you love has been using you the whole time?
I lead the couple into my living room and Daphne says she’ll go to the kitchen to make tea. Ricardo sits across from me on a single recliner, eyes trained on me.
“Are you sure about this?” he asks. His voice is different at night. Gravelly. Dangerous.
My phone pings, and there’s a message from Dominic: Why are the security cameras off? Not safe to have them off, Jo. Make sure the house is locked up.
I ignore his message, listening to Daphne clank around in the kitchen. I don’t want him knowing Daphne and her husband are here, and I’m glad he’s left like the selfish bastard he is. It’s not safe, yet you’ve left your wife at home alone and without protection? Sure, there are the police at the end of the driveway, but they can’t see much from there. Hell, Daphne and Ricardo parked on the street behind our house, and I allowed them access through the back gate so the police wouldn’t spot them.
I put my attention on Ricardo, whose gaze hasn’t left mine. He’s always been a good husband to Daphne. He’s always been there for her. I feel a slight pang of envy at the thought, but also relief because Daphne is my best friend and she deserves someone who loves and protects her . . . as well as her friends. I know it wasn’t easy for him to agree to come here, and as Daphne told me, I must be sure. If I’m to bring Ricardo into this, I have to do it wisely.
“I’m positive,” I say.
Ricardo nods, and though it feels like blood is swimming in my ears and that I might faint, there is no turning back now.
THIRTY
DOMINIC
Dominic stirs awake in the bed, panting raggedly as his eyes bounce around the hotel room. His hand is on his chest, the white comforter sloppily draped over the lower half of his body. He’s not sure when he dozed off.
He didn’t want to sleep at all, but he drank more, drowned himself in bourbon, and curled under the covers as he thought about the events that’d transpired over the past week.
The witch.
The hallucinations.
The dead crow.
The pictures.
He’s sticky with sweat, and curses for even closing his eyes. How could he be so stupid after knowing someone was inside the apartment? They could’ve followed him to the hotel and broken in there too. Whoever this person is that’s tormenting him, why haven’t they killed him yet? What are they waiting for? Because at this rate, death seems more peaceful than all the harrowing questions.
Perhaps they don’t want to kill him, he considers. They want him to suffer, to wonder what’s next, to second-guess himself and throw him off his game. The biggest rally of his campaign is coming up and he’s not even close to being prepared for his speech. He has to figure out who’s behind this so he can end it.
Dominic supposes that, in itself, is torture—knowing someone has something over you that you can’t snatch away and bury. Knowing this person is anonymous makes it more of a threat. It could be anyone. He’s wronged so many people in the past for his own personal gain. He never thought he’d become this sort of person, but he has, and he can’t go back now.
His eyes shift to the table in the corner where the bloody purse is. He’s almost positive the blood on it is Brynn’s and he shudders, unsure what to do with it. He could take it somewhere and burn it. He could toss it in a random dumpster and forget about it. But for some reason it seems safest to keep it with him. Keep it close and deal with it later once the stalker is put to rest.