Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88215 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
I push on his chest and walk away.
“Yes, you do. You just won’t choose me.”
Chapter Thirty-Eight
“It may be hard to believe, since you think the world revolves around you, but as much as you want to make this all about you, it’s not,” I yell at Frankie, hot on her heels. She doesn’t understand what this is all about. She doesn’t understand what needs to be done in order to set things right. She has a right to be frustrated, but that doesn’t make the guilt or anger I’m feeling any easier to choke down.
“Then, who is it about?” she asks, spinning around to face me. We’re in the kitchen now. Her back is against the counter. “Because the last time I checked, I’m the only one here being held against her will. So, tell me, Smoke. Who the hell else could this all be about?”
I grab her by the shoulders. “It’s about my kid!” I blurt.
Frankie’s jaw drops open. She doesn’t speak, just stares at me in disbelief. She’s squinting at me as if she can’t quite see me even though I’m right in front of her.
See me, Frankie. Please. See me.
“What?” she finally asks in a whisper.
It’s the last shit in the world I want to tell anyone, never mind Frankie, but I can’t keep it from her anymore. The hurt written on her face is strangling me from the inside. I’m twisted up. Telling her won’t change anything, but maybe, it can change the look of betrayal in her eyes.
The look I’ve put there.
The world has stopped spinning. It’s just me and this beautiful angry girl staring at one another like we’re either about to fuck or claw each other’s eyes out.
Maybe, both.
Who can blame us. We’re supposed to be on opposite sides, but things have changed.
The only side I want to be on is hers
Mind. Soul. Body.
Her pain is my pain, and I’m fucking drowning in it.
“Your what?” she asks again, louder this time as if maybe she didn’t hear me correctly. Although from the surprised look on her face and the way her eyebrows unfurrow, I know she has.
I lift her up by the waist, propping her up on the counter. I maneuver myself between her legs for two reasons. One, because I need to be touching her while I tell her what I’m about to tell her, and two, because I need to keep her in place so she won’t run away on me again. I need her to stay and listen to every word I’m about to say.
It’s that fucking important.
“Morgan,” I start, feeling my throat tighten. “She was…a friend of mine. Well, I guess more than a friend. She was in the business, too, mostly tech stuff. Occasionally, she helped me out. She didn’t love me. I didn’t love her, but we trusted each other, and trust was better. At least, to us it was.”
I cringe when I come to the part of the story I’ve never said out loud before.
“Keep going,” Frankie urges me on. She lightly grabs hold of my bicep, and every time she does something to comfort me I feel like I’m both living for the first time and dying a slow motherfucking death.
I clear my throat. “I was away working clear across the country for several months. I go dark when I’m working certain jobs. No phone. No Internet. No communication with the outside world at all.”
She nods against my chest, and I cradle the back of her head with my hand, threading my fingers through her hair.
“When I got back, I went to see Morgan, but she…” I feel my fingers tighten around Frankie’s hair as the images of what I found in the house flash through my brain like a twisted picture show. “She was...”
“But she wasn’t alive,” Frankie finishes for me.
I nod slowly. “No, she wasn’t. Far from it. There was nothing in her house but smeared blood. More blood than I’d ever seen, and I’ve seen my fair share. I had to look closer to realize what had really happened.”
I nod and wrap my arms around her waist and pull her to the edge of the counter so I can press her soft body against me. I think she’s going to fight me, but she sighs into my chest instead. I rest my chin on the top of her head and breathe her in.
“What really happened?” Frankie asks.
“Morgan. She was pregnant. I didn’t know. We hadn’t spoken in months. I was away. That’s why there was so much blood. She was hacked to pieces. Every inch of her.”
“Oh my God.” Frankie gasps. “Why? Why on earth would someone do that?” She’s sobbing against my chest. I’m now comforting her. Holding her.
I don’t tell her it happened because the world is an evil place because I’ve committed my fair share of evil. I don’t tell her it’s my fault for getting close to Morgan when I shouldn’t have. Her attachment to me was a risk I shouldn’t have let her take. It made her a target.