Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 533(@200wpm)___ 426(@250wpm)___ 355(@300wpm)
“I’m sure. I’ve got a lot to do.”
I’m such a liar. I have an appointment with a therapist who is convinced my feelings for Ghost were nothing more than Stockholm syndrome and a metro card application to fill in.
Life has continued to remain boring even after I was freed from captivity by a joint mafia slash FBI sting. The only time my heart has galloped was when I stood outside the Bobrov safehouse across from a man with eyes as icy as Ghost’s.
Since I was bundled into a blacked-out SUV a second after Blaire’s ambulance roared down the street, I was never given the chance to hunt for Ghost. I searched for him later, but according to Grayson, Ghost is exactly that, a ghost. There are no records of his birth or ties to the Bobrov and no archives of his death.
To the Bureau and the CIA, he never existed.
I stop reminiscing about the detailed reports Grayson shared with me three weeks after I left the hospital when Hailey pleads, “Please go to your appointment today, Kate. I know you think she has no clue what she’s doing, but she was a godsend to me after Mom and Dad passed. She helped me a lot.” When I nod, my heart not up to lying, she murmurs, “I left the travel pamphlets you requested on the counter for you. You didn’t give me much to go off, so I grabbed a heap for every continent.”
Her reply makes me smile. Blaire and I had some contact my first few weeks of freedom, but once she was discharged from the hospital for a gunshot wound to her stomach, it has been sporadic. She is traveling the globe with the man I believed was killed along with everyone else since his death was flashed across every news broadcast for weeks on end.
Blaire’s adventures with Rico have been encouraging me to do the same—except I won’t be visiting foreign nations with a ghost. His death wasn’t primetime news. He didn’t even get a proper burial.
When Hailey sighs about my downcast bottom lip, I remember that time away will also benefit her. I’ve inconvenienced her a lot in the past six months. I stole her only bedroom, a lot of time away from her boyfriend, and cried endlessly on her shoulder when reality dawned that I was never going back to Madame Victoria’s or Master Rudd’s compound.
I also grieved Ghost and the child I was never carrying.
Those tears were a little harder for Hailey to understand, but she supported me nonetheless.
Alek killed Master Rudd, so I was never overly threatful that he would find me again, but when Henry learned I’d been taken by one of my supposed ‘own’ and not killed as stated, he debunked more than the Bobrovs wish of a resurrection in the United States. He took down multiple organizations, then gifted the profits of their illegal activities to me.
I can’t use that money. It is blood money, but I have some funds left from my parents’ estate I plan to deplete by exploring the world without boarded-up windows stealing the scenery.
I sat at the window in Ghost’s room on the cargo ship for hours on end, watching nothing but the swell of the ocean. It was the only thing that could settle the pain in my chest long enough to secure an entire breath.
The remembrance reminds me of why I told my therapist I want to travel once I’ve recovered.
“I want to see color. Lots and lots of color.”
“Maybe you should go to Mardi Gras? There’s plenty of color there.”
Hailey laughs before ribbing her boyfriend, shutting him up. “Mardi Gras is colorful, but that is a completely different color than the one Katie is seeking.” She peers at her watch before sighing. “We really need to get going, I don’t want to be late. Rise Up is headlining today. It is their first major concert since Noah’s accident.”
“Then go.” I shoo her away with a flick of my wrist. “Have fun.”
When she remains as stubborn as ever, I walk them to the door before securing the locks, then I have a long heavenly shower.
Don’t judge me, but I searched online for the shampoo I used at the Bobrov compound. I found the exact one. It cost me a fortune to ship it here, and it was a complete waste of money. There’s still something not quite right about it.
Once I’ve showered and dressed in a bright pink shirt and skinny jeans, I make my way to the bus stop. I still haven’t learned how to drive. I’m not sure I want to. I imagine it will be hard concentrating on the road and the back seat to make sure I don’t have any unwanted guests.
I’m not scared I’ll be taken again. I’m terrified of living the remainder of my life without an ounce of excitement. Blaire is living her life on the run, but I bet her heart is constantly racing. Mine has barely thudded over sixty beats a minute since I was freed from captivity. My hands haven’t been clammy, and I’ve had no adrenaline spikes whatsoever.