Total pages in book: 116
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 549(@200wpm)___ 439(@250wpm)___ 366(@300wpm)
“Yeah. We looked at some photos. Check these out.” She pulled out her cell phone and showed him the pictures she’d taken.
Trick laughed at the one of them at her birthday party. “I remember that. I kept telling you the balloons wouldn’t make you fly, but you were determined to try.” He looked at the photo of her and her parents, wondering how the fuck a family that looked that happy together could possibly go to shit.
“Iris said she thought I should have one of me with them.”
“It’s okay to want it, Frankie.” But he sensed she felt some guilt. “There’s nothing bad about treasuring a happy moment.” Even if that happiness had later evaporated.
“I kind of hoped that looking through the albums would jog my memories, that I might remember something, which is just stupid, since people rarely recall any memories from that age. But I hate that there are so many holes in the story.”
Trick kissed her forehead. “I know you do. But you have to stop being mad at yourself,” he said quietly, “because it’s pissing me off.”
“Excuse me?” She kept her voice low, so it didn’t carry to the others.
“You’re angry with yourself because you think you could solve the mystery so easily if you hadn’t buried the memories when you were a kid. But it’s not your fault, Frankie. You hear me? It’s not your fault. We’ll probably never have the answers. You need to learn to be okay with that or you’ll torment yourself, and then I’ll have to paddle your ass because no one hurts my mate—not even her.”
While part of her bristled at his words, Frankie found herself snorting in amusement. “Paddle my ass, huh?”
“Paddle your ass, yes. I’ll make no bones about it—do not test me on this.”
She frowned. “You can’t make bones at all.”
He rolled his eyes. “It’s a figure of speech, and you know what I mean,” he said impatiently. He smoothed his hand down her back. “I’ll bet your ass would turn a very pretty shade of pink.” Trick was getting hard just thinking about it. “In fact, fuck the paddle. I’d use my hands. Yeah, seeing my handprints on your ass would be seriously fucking hot.”
“You don’t really have a paddle, do you?” His wicked smile was all the answer she needed. And it made her blush. She was about to declare, in no uncertain terms, that no paddle would get anywhere near her ass, but then his eyes cut to something over her shoulder. “What is it?” she asked.
“Why are the kids staring at you?”
She sighed. “I don’t know. I’m thinking they like the smell of my fear.”
Chuckling, Trick tucked his face in the crook of her neck.
“It’s really not funny.” But he just laughed harder. Asshole.
Frankie rubbed her arms. She was inside her display room. It was cold. Dark. She heard sniffling. She turned. It was her sculpture of the girl in the chair, her head plopped forward. She was sniveling and—
The sound abruptly cut off. There was a deathly chill to the silence. And Frankie was suddenly very afraid. The girl’s head began to lift, the movement stiff and jerky. Oh sweet Jesus, no. The synthetic hair parted. The face . . . it was Frankie. A much younger Frankie. “He hurt her,” she whispered.
“Who?” Frankie asked, her voice cracking. “Who hurt her?”
The child’s head slowly turned. She stiffly lifted her hand. Pointed.
Turning her head just as slowly, Frankie looked. Gasped. There was a black, frothy blur bobbing in the air. There were no eyes, but it saw her. She felt its eyes on her.
The scent of rain, brine, and burned wood swirled around her as a grating voice said, “You’re supposed to be in bed, Frankie.”
Frankie’s eyes snapped open, and she sucked in a breath and gripped the coverlet. Her heart was pounding like a drum, slamming against her ribs. She sucked in another breath, feeling like she couldn’t get enough air.
A warm, calloused hand cupped her cheek. “Shh, baby, it was just a nightmare.” Trick gathered her close and kissed her hair. “Want to talk about it?”
She shook her head, burrowing into him, absorbing his warmth and inhaling his scent. She supposed it wasn’t surprising that she’d have a nightmare, given that her mind was full of dark questions to which she had no answers. Still, it had been damn disturbing. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to wake you.” Shit, her voice actually trembled.
“Shh,” he soothed, kissing her hair again. “Sleep. I’ve got you.”
She snuggled closer and shut her eyes, but it was a long time before she fell back to sleep.
CHAPTER NINE
The knock at the front door snapped Frankie out of her zone. Dammit. Any other time, she’d have ignored it, but she was waiting on a delivery and needed the materials for her next project.