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)
From this window, she could see an oversized landing. Lights were on inside, and she spotted a bedroom. A person moved back and forth in the room, his phone in hand. It was the guy from the picture Brynn sent. Her ex. She couldn’t remember his name—Donte or something. But it was him. He was running his hands over his face, clearly in distress. He stopped pacing to check his phone, then paused, bringing the phone to his ear.
When he walked away, Shavonne couldn’t breathe. Because in that bedroom behind him was a pool of blood and a body in a red dress. It wouldn’t take a genius to know it was her best friend.
Shavonne’s fingers trembled as she withdrew her phone, went to the camera, and snapped a picture of the scene because men like him didn’t get caught unless there was proof. This ex of hers had clearly become somebody based off this fancy house and the car parked up front. There was no telling how long Brynn’s body had been there, or what he’d done to her. She stared a moment longer, hoping this was some sick prank or game—hoping Brynn would roll over and start laughing (she did have a dark sense of humor) but she didn’t. And her worst-case scenario had proven to be true.
Through tears, she climbed down the trellis and ducked around the house. She jumped the brick wall again and hurried to her car, slamming the door behind her with wild breaths.
She needed to call the police, but she couldn’t stop herself from breaking down and sobbing first.
FORTY-FIVE
SHAVONNE
Four years ago
Shavonne sat in her car, ready to call the authorities. She had to pull herself together. She picked up the phone, hands trembling, and pressed the numbers in the keypad slowly.
9 . . . 1 . . . 1.
But before she pressed the call button, a black pickup truck drove past her, stopping at the gate of the house she’d just run from.
She sucked in a breath and lowered in her seat, watching as the truck waited for the gate to open. When the gates were spread, the truck drove straight in and moved out of sight.
Wait a minute. Was someone returning to the house? Did this mean they’d find the man who hurt Brynn? Find her body? Perhaps she could corroborate with whoever was in the truck and put Brynn’s ex in jail. She waited a few minutes before climbing back out of the car again, jumping the fence again, and landing with a soft grunt.
Hurrying toward a cluster of trees, she watched as a burly man stood on the porch and knocked on the door with a large fist. The man turned a fraction, peering over his shoulder, and Shavonne crouched behind one of the live oak trees, fingers deep in the tree bark, breaths erratic as she focused on the house ahead.
Mosquitos buzzed around her while gnats fought for her attention. She swatted them away with one hand, and with her hoodie on, she could feel sweat accumulating on her forehead and beneath her bra.
The man faced forward again as the front door opened and she watched Brynn’s ex appear on the other side. She couldn’t deny he was a handsome man, but it was always the pretty ones with rotten souls. Who just stood around while a body surrounded in blood was near them? The door closed and she waited, pulling out her phone, ready to dial the police. Her fingers hovered over the number. She wasn’t sure what was stopping her. To her, none of this felt real. In her mind, Brynn was still alive, and this was all some sick, twisted joke.
She waited.
In less than five minutes, the front door opened again, and the large man walked outside, scanning the area before climbing into his truck and parking backwards, so that the bed of the truck faced the door.
“What is he doing?” she breathed.
He went into the house again and Shavonne waited until the men returned and swung the door open. They were going back and forth in conversation until the burly man tossed something at Brynn’s ex. The ex stepped back, so she couldn’t see what he was doing, but in a matter of seconds both men bent down. She noticed they both had gloves on.
She tried not to make a noise as the men lifted a rolled-up rug and grunted as they shoved it onto the back of the truck. She bit into her bottom lip and tasted blood when she realized the rug wasn’t empty—that it was lumpy and misshapen, and pieces of hair stuck out of the ends. Brynn.
She pulled out her phone, making sure it was on silent before going to her camera, zooming in, and snapping a picture of them. In the photo, Brynn’s ex clung to the end of the rug to make sure it didn’t fall. She cursed under her breath. It was a bad picture. To anyone else, it would just look like he was putting something on the truck, not a body.