Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 127476 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 637(@200wpm)___ 510(@250wpm)___ 425(@300wpm)
"He can't find happiness with his wife?"
"Ray? No. I'm sure it was possible at the beginning, but not anymore. They don't even like each other."
"But you're not like that, right? You wouldn't…"
"No, I wouldn't. I've told you before—I'm not interested in anyone else."
"But you might be someday," she says. "What if you wake up one day and don't like me anymore?"
"I don't know, Karissa. You tell me." I cock an eyebrow at her. "How does it feel to be stuck with somebody you don't like?"
She glares at me. "I wouldn't know."
"You wouldn't?"
"I like you," she says, hesitating before adding, "most days, anyway."
"Good to know." I pull her to me again. "And me not liking you is improbable, Karissa. Sure, sometimes you can be frustrating, but you keep life interesting, that's for certain."
She relaxes against me, sighing. "It's so weird to me. Like, even Melody's dad is like that? He's a freaking businessman. She said her parents are perfect together."
"Perfection doesn't exist," I reply. "It's a mask people wear to conceal their ugly truths. Never trust someone who only ever smiles at you."
She's quiet for a beat. "Ray only ever smiles at me."
I kiss the top of her head. "Exactly."
"Next customer down here!"
The voice is loud and impatient, not the sort of friendly customer service one would want in a place like this. I step up to the counter, seeing the boy's annoyed expression as he glares down at the register, wearing a puke-green colored apron. He senses my presence and grumbles, "what do you want?"
"Depends on what you can get me."
He glances up, his annoyed expression growing, but he freezes when he catches my eye. I wondered if he would recognize me, considering we've only met once, but his wide eyes tell me he does. "Uh, hey… Ignazio, right?"
"Right."
Paul stares at me, contemplating, before clearing his throat and looking back down at the register. "So what can I get for you?"
"I want what you gave my fiancée."
He hesitates, eyes flickering to me again. I can see his concern, the expression all I need to give me my answers. I'm here on a hunch, little hints of suspicion that had been dropped around me the past few months, but what I lacked was information… information that his eyes just gave me.
Karissa drugged me once, not long ago, using a tiny vial of powder that she got somewhere. I've watched her meticulously since she came into my life. I know her habits. I know everyone she talks to, everyone she deals with. There are only so many ways she could've come upon such a potent drug, only a handful of people capable of getting it for her.
The list whittled down to just one… just one, who so easily gave himself away with a look. Strike three. He's out.
"I didn't, uh… I'm not sure what you mean. I don't know what she told you, but I didn't give her anything."
I can practically see him sweating, his voice low and cracking at his denial. People are easy to read, especially untrained liars.
"You've never waited on her before?" I ask, cocking at eyebrow. "She comes here all the time with your girlfriend."
"Oh, uh, yeah, sure." He wipes his forehead absently before offering a smile that's full of relief. "Chocolate Mint Tea."
"Yes," I say. "I'll take one of those."
Paul rings it up and I pay with a twenty-dollar bill, telling him to keep the change. I linger off to the side while they make my drink, keeping my eyes on Paul as I wait.
He's passive now, his voice quiet and his words polite.
I rattled him.
When my drink is ready, I nod to Paul in greeting before walking outside. I stroll around the corner, to where my car is parked in the alley, and take a sip of the drink. Disgusting.
I throw it right in the Dumpster.
Paul gets off a few minutes later. I'm standing in the alleyway behind the café, leaning against the brick building beside Paul's car. He's too cheap to pay for street parking so he leaves it parked cockeyed not far from the Dumpster. He steps out, not paying any attention, phone glued to his ear as he rambles on to someone. He turns to head for his car, keys in hand, and gasps loudly, startled by my presence. The phone slips, crashing to the alley.
Before he can reach for it, I push away from the wall, stepping right on the phone, smashing it beneath my shoe. His eyes widen, horror flashing in their depths.
He doesn't have time to react before I grab a hold of him. Arms around him, my gloved hands grasp his throat, fingers going right for the jugular.
Ten seconds.
That's it.
Ten measly seconds and his body goes limp, falling unconscious in my arms. Karissa fights me in bed more than he just did. I drag him around the side of the Dumpster, where my car awaits, trunk already open. Picking him up, I shove him inside, grabbing a roll of duct tape. I unwind it, securing his wrists and ankles together before wrapping it around his head, covering his mouth and nose.
He'll be dead within minutes from oxygen deprivation.
Slamming the trunk closed, I toss the rest of the duct tape in the dumpster and climb back in my car, driving away from the alley.
Easy and clean, relatively painless, but that matters little to me. I won't watch him die, won't bask in the afterglow, but I would if I could. If I had my way, I'd make it slow and excruciating, but I'm short on time.
I have somewhere to be.
Glancing at my watch, I sigh.
I'm already going to be late.
It takes nearly an hour for me to make it back to Brooklyn with traffic. I park the car in the driveway and head right inside, opening the front door and stalling. Karissa stands in the living room, wearing a red dress and a pair of high heels, her hair down and slightly curled. She's wearing make-up… a lot of make-up, her lips the same blood red shade as her dress. She's holding her phone to her ear and turns to me just as mine starts ringing in my pocket.