Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 84913 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 425(@200wpm)___ 340(@250wpm)___ 283(@300wpm)
Chris's gaze moved downward, looking at the tattooed hand like it might jump out and bite her.
It was right then that I saw the girl I had shared a basement with. She'd come so far, she'd healed so much, but there was still some damage there, some remnants of the abuse she had endured.
Maybe she managed it in part by the fact that all the men at Hailstorm were technically beneath her in terms of power and that all the men in our very extended family would never hurt her, could be trusted wholly.
But men like Finch, strange men, men who didn't have to answer to her per se, there was still hesitation there, fear there.
It felt like forever that her gaze stayed there. Eventually, it seemed like Finch picked up on something being wrong, curling his hand into a fist, and bumping it into hers.
"We got a deal."
Chris shook her head, knocking the lingering thoughts loose. "Perfect. I am going to need a number to reach you at."
"You want my number, angel?" Finch asked, eyes dancing.
Again, Chris ignored this obvious attempt at charm. "We are going to need to do something about your security here. I mean, I don't want our money just walking off if the local delivery guy spots all this cash lying around. And, really, smoking?" she asked, picking up a pack of cigarettes on the table. "Are you literally trying to burn up all this money? I will write you up a PDF about all the changes that need to be made," Chris prattled on, picking up Finch's phone, swiping through it, seeming to find the number, typing it into her phone. "And I expect the changes to be implemented immediately upon receipt of said PDF."
"Yes, ma'am," Finch said to Chris's retreating form. Her hands were already typing away at her phone, likely working on that form she promised him.
"Told you I had it all worked out," she said on her way out.
"Like your friends there, babe," Finch said, looking a little whiplashed by the whole ordeal. And I couldn't exactly blame him.
"She's my cousin," I corrected.
"Think I might like getting bossed around by your cousin, babe," he said, smirking.
"Well, that works out. Because she's really good at bossing people around."
"Oh, little hint," Finch said as we inched closer to the door. "If you guys don't want me to hear you fucking, you might want to do it in the shower for a change."
With that, we went back to our shitty apartment.
Had some shower sex that still likely managed to be overheard by all the neighbors.
Then we sat on the couch eating leftover Chinese while looking over the apartment options Chris had sent over with records playing in the background.
It was simple.
And sweet.
And completely freaking perfect.
"Hey, Ace?"
"Yeah?" I asked, finding it hard to keep my eyes open.
"I'm really fucking glad you decided to come home."
And, well, so was I.
Fifteen
- Journal Entry - 24th Birthday -
I had a dream last night.
I don't dream often.
At least, I don't have pleasant dreams often.
Nightmares and me, we have become fast and steady friends over the years.
But actual dreams?
I thought they were something I had left in my old life.
I was standing in a flower-blanketed yard. Irises and peonies and snapdragons and amaranth and zinnias were in full bloom, their happy faces reaching up toward the beaming yellow sun, just warm enough for the comfort of bare arms without too much heat.
I looked downward, seeing my arm there, fingers tracing silky petals as I walked through the seemingly endless paths of beds.
To what destination, I had no idea until I found myself there. Standing in front of a massive gilded mirror propped up between two swaying weeping willows.
My reflection was shaded until I got right up to it, the sun beaming through the branches to show me myself.
And there I was, my hair a little longer on top, my face a little fuller, my eyes not quite so haunted.
In a flowing white dress, lace-trimmed, impossibly elegant. The kind of dress that spoke of special days and special words and promises you wanted to keep. Until death do you part.
Just as my mind was reconciling the meaning of the dress, another figure moved in behind me. Dressed in black. The fancy kind of dressed.
His head pressed to the side of mine, his hands sliding around me, one hand reaching down to grab my left one, the sun catching the flat face of my diamond ring. There was another one settled before it, too. Plain, but solid, full of meaning.
Confused, my gaze lifted from our linked hands, searching for the man who had slid those rings there in the first place.
Vance.
I woke up gasping, heart hammering in my chest, eyes stinging.
Never before had I wanted a dream to be reality so badly.
Epilogue
Vance - 3 weeks later