Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 72591 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72591 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 363(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 242(@300wpm)
“Yeah…”
“Hate to break it to you, but there is no one else. It’s just me, and even though I’ve chosen to quit this life, I’ll make an exception because fuckers like that don’t deserve to walk the earth.”
“Perfect!” Xander exclaims, clapping his hands together.
“What do we owe you?” I pipe up, taking another gulp of whiskey.
Luke smiles, but it’s not a friendly smile, it’s a predatory smile, one that makes your insides twist and your body throw up a red warning sign that says run.
“No charge, kid. This one is on the house. It’ll be a pleasure for me to get rid of this dude. Leave the details with Xander and I’ll personally deliver the news to you when it’s done.”
Never in a million years did I think I would find myself in a situation like this, going to someone to have someone killed. I know I should be freaking out, worried that someone will find out, but no one will. These men know what they’re doing and even if someone did find out that’s a risk, I’m willing to take to get rid of this fucker. Never again will he touch Emerson. As soon as he breathes his last breath, she’ll be free, we both will.
“Thank you. I look forward to hearing the good news.” I smile before downing the rest of my drink. It burns a path of fire down my throat, warming my body all over. If doing this makes me a bad man, then I guess I’m a bad man for taking care of the woman I love.
“See ya soon, kid,” Luke says, waltzing out of the room.
I glance over to Xander who is smiling, amusement glittering in his eyes. “Give me all the details, kid, and I’ll be sure Luke gets them.”
And so I tell him everything I know about the piece of shit.
Chapter Eighteen
Emerson
Clark has been acting weird, and not in a bad way, but a strange way. He’s been more carefree, less brooding and angry. He hasn’t asked me about Rick anymore, hasn’t tried to push me into going to the police. It’s almost like after our talk he’s let go of the idea of going after him. If I knew speaking out would one hundred percent guarantee that he would be sentenced then I would do it, but Rick is a manipulator, an abuser, and horrible person.
It would be nothing more than my word against his, and I couldn’t stand to relive the memories of my past with him for it to do me no good. I want him to pay, more than anything, and I want to bring him to justice, but I’m going to stand in front of an entire courtroom full of people reliving my worst nightmare knowing that they would probably not believe me. It pains me to know he walks free, and I do have a fear that he could possibly hurt someone else, but I can’t bring myself to think about. I need to believe that I was and will be the only one, I need this for my sanity.
I will forever carry around the memories of what he did to me, the scars, but that’s just how it is. It’s my burden to carry and mine alone. I can’t do anything about it.
I pull the pizza out of the oven and set it on the stovetop when someone knocks at the door. Slipping off the oven mittens, I throw them on the counter on my way to the door. At this time at night, it can only be Vance and Ava who decided to stop by. I don’t even look to check who it is before I open the door, ready to greet my friends.
When I don’t find Vance or Ava behind the door, my lighthearted mood fades away and is replaced by heart-pounding fear. I take in the tall, muscular man in front of me. I’ve never seen him before, but one look is all I need to tell me something very important about him. He is dangerous. I can see it in his gaze and in the way he carries himself, I can feel it in the air surrounding him.
My self-preservation instinct kicks in and I slam the door shut in his face. Unfortunately his reflexes are faster. Stopping the door with his foot, he wedged himself into the space. I step back, trying to put distance between us, almost falling over my own two feet in the process.
He holds up his hands showing me his palm as if showing me that he doesn't have a weapon would calm me down somehow. Something tells me that this guy doesn’t need a weapon to do damage.
“I come in peace,” he announces while stepping into the living room like he owns the place. “You must be Emerson.”