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)
In my gut, I didn’t fully trust her and figured she and Samuel Sanchez would ride off in the sunset, leaving us stranded and having Dominic kill us off, just so he’d ruin his own life.
As an unknown man walks into Dominic’s cabin with a ski mask on, I believe it to be true.
Jolene has changed her mind. She wants us gone. I don’t know what she gets out of it but what I do know is that this random man was not a part of the plan.
SIXTY
JOLENE
Let me make something clear. I am not a bad person. I strive to be a good woman who does good things. I wanted to be nothing like my name-calling mother, or even like my father who was money-hungry and obsessed with control. But genetics are powerful. We can’t deny the habits in our DNA and no matter how much we try not to be like our parents, some part of us becomes them anyway. When a person hits their last straw and becomes fed up, there is no going back. We all have a tipping point, and once we’ve reached the ledge, we’re left with no choice but to jump off and tread the waters.
Well, here I am. Treading.
I’ve been treading since college. My senior year was when I knew I was more like my father than I realized. He was calculative and he hated mistakes. He also didn’t allow anyone to walk all over him and had raised me to be the same way. There was a reason he had a man like Boaz around. Boaz wasn’t just a bodyguard or security. He was much more. And not only did Winton Hart use him to handle situations, so did I.
I grew up a fat girl. I loved food. I loved sweets. I had a therapist once who told me I associate food with happiness, and this is true. There is one specific memory I love when I was twelve and my dad took an entire week off of work to spend it with me. I’d been complaining about the lack of father-daughter time to him for months, so he moved some things around on his schedule and made the effort.
And during that week, oh goodness, did we eat. He took me to Cape Cod where we soaked up some sun and rotated through new restaurants every morning and noon. Then we’d pop by a bakery, or an ice cream shop and he’d let me get whatever I wanted. I’d grab brownies, cookies, cakes, and the likes and I’d eat it all in our hotel room while watching Family Matters reruns. This, to me, was joy. But I didn’t realize then how loving something so much could ruin my life. I packed on the pounds. I looked puffy and swollen. I didn’t notice how much my weight played a factor until I was in high school and tried out for the cheerleading squad.
All throughout high school, I was bullied for my weight. And in college, I thought things would get better and that people wouldn’t care so much, but I was wrong.
There was a girl named Michelle Dawson. She was a cheerleader on campus, and she had a crew—three other girls who followed her around like abandoned puppies. Michelle would make snorting pig-like noses whenever I walked by, and she’d laugh and throw fries at me in the library when I studied. I was upset about her behavior—stressed, even. Daphne told me often not to worry about it, but I took it to heart. Even more so when I attended a party and my pants ripped when I bent over. One of Michelle’s friends took a picture and Michelle blasted it on one of the student forums. I was embarrassed, devasted, and I hated myself. I remember calling my dad and sobbing so he flew me to Texas for the weekend and Boaz dropped by.
Boaz had always frightened me. I wasn’t sure what it was about him, but he had a scary look that made you not want to even peek his way. He saw me sulking on one of the living room sofas as he passed by to meet my dad in another room. And while they chatted, it hit me that Boaz worked for us. He did unspeakable things for my dad. He cleared situations for us, and especially my mom. So, before he left, I caught him outside and asked if he’d take care of Michelle. I didn’t care how he did it, but I wanted him to teach her a lesson—to get her to stop messing with me.
Boaz didn’t ask for anything but her full name.
That following Wednesday, I didn’t realize the snorting noises and fries in my hair had come to an end until Daphne burst into our dorm and said, “Did you hear about Michelle?”