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)
He would not let his mother’s death define him . . . but look at him now. Back in his childhood cabin, facing a woman who has caused him mounting paranoia. He supposes this is worse than being like his mother, because at least she’d only hurt herself physically, and no one else.
Dominic grabs a chair from the table in the corner and brings it in front of Shavonne. He sits as Boaz remains standing by the door. His eyes are on Shavonne’s, and he sighs as he says, “It didn’t have to be this way.”
She scowls.
“Boaz, can you take the tape off?”
Boaz grunts, moving through the cabin and digging into his pocket. He snatches out a pocketknife, flips it open, and reveals a sharp blade. Panic surfaces in Shavonne’s eyes as she watches Boaz approach her with it. He wedges a finger beneath the tight tape and slices at an opening. The tape comes off and Shavonne pants as she says, “You’re an idiot.”
“Shavonne, tell me where Brynn is,” Dominic orders, ignoring her rude remark.
“I’m not telling you a damn thing. Like I said,” she breathes. “You won’t get away with what you did. Now you’ve kidnapped me. You’re so stupid.”
He hates that word. Stupid. He’s not stupid. He’s smart and excels at everything he does. The word angers him so much that he rises from his chair and grips her face in his hand. The pads of his fingers dig into her flesh and she whimpers, only a bit, but matches his stare.
“Tell. Me. Where. She. Is,” he growls.
Shavonne’s right eye twitches. “How did you like the tea?”
He frowns, faltering a bit. “What?”
“The tea I gave to your wife. I bet the hallucinations were horrible for you. LSD does that to a person. I bet it’s still in your blood stream.” She sneers and he shoves her face away, nearly knocking her backwards in the chair.
LSD? What the hell is she talking about? Is that why he was seeing things? Why the sky was purple? Why he was so damn paranoid of every single person? She drugged him without him even realizing it. As if she senses the panic brewing in him, she giggles. Fucking giggles, like some child who just pulled a cute little prank.
His breaths come out raggedly as he turns to pick up his chair and launch it across the room. Boaz takes a step back, eyeing Dominic as he fumes, pacing the cabin and dragging a hand over his head.
“This is on you!” Dominic snaps, pointing a finger at Boaz. “You said she was dead! You said it was fine! What the hell am I paying you all this money for when it was never handled?”
“I’m not the one who threw a fit and nearly killed that woman!” Boaz booms. “I came to help you out. I did what I was supposed to. She was buried alive—there was no surviving it! This woman is clearly lying!”
“See! You lied! You said she was dead before you buried her!”
Shavonne’s laugh catches Dominic off guard and he whirls around, glaring at her.
“Loyalty is powerful, Dominic Baker,” she says in a breathy voice.
“What the hell are you talking about?” he hisses.
“I was there that night when you helped put her body in the truck. I saw everything.”
“How?” Dominic croaks, the blood draining from his face.
She laughs again and it grates his nerves. “You may think you buried her—that she’s dead and you left her behind—but she’s not. She still breathes. And she will find me. Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.” She stares at him with wild eyes. Boaz shifts on his feet. “You hear that, Baker? That’s the sound of your time running out.”
FORTY-ONE
JOLENE
I don’t know what to do. Dominic isn’t answering his phone, there was a bloody, dirty purse in a box beneath the TV, and those notes I saw are terrifying. I have no idea why he isn’t answering, but what I do know is I’m pissed off. After reading that message on Instagram several times, I can’t stay in this marriage.
My phone rings and I check the screen. When I see who it is, I ignore the call. I’m not in the mood. I stop by a wine and spirits store, grabbing three bottles of wine to take home. I missed my cycling class but couldn’t give a damn right now. Who cares about staying in shape and working my ass off for a man who doesn’t care about me?
When I’m home, I dump my things on the table and crack open the first bottle of wine. I give Samuel a call, wanting to hear his voice, but it rings several times before reaching his voicemail.
I find a glass and fill it close to the brim, taking a long, hefty sip as I leave the kitchen and carry it upstairs with me. I turn the faucets to start a bath, ready to soak and call it an early night when I hear the doorbell ring.