Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 136731 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 684(@200wpm)___ 547(@250wpm)___ 456(@300wpm)
I made my way over to the door, standing with my hand resting on the handle. “Thanks again, Duane.” I closed the door halfway, looking him in the eye. “But the people who got me the last time were the good guys.”
The look on his face as I shut the door on him said it all.
I was sure I left Duane wondering about what the bad guys would do once they got a hold of me, if the good guys were the ones who had caused so much damage.
An hour passes and Wyatt is yet to return from the store.
It doesn’t matter though. The clothes Duane brought me will suffice for the night. I lie in the stiff but clean bed, wearing one of Wyatt’s soft cotton plaid shirts and nothing else.
The yoga pants I wore just hours ago were now littered with holes. My shirt had buttons ripped off it. The only thing I could reuse was the bra and panties, which I washed in the sink with shampoo and hung to dry over the shower curtain rod.
Before I showered, I turned on the bathroom light, and my feet took me to stand in front of the mirror hanging over the vanity.
I was shocked by my reflection.
Not only was my face covered in dirt, mud-streaked from my tears, but the corner of my lip had split, bleeding right down to my chin. I definitely looked worse than I first imagined, and the shower was calling my name.
I felt grimy with the fine dust from the gravelly road coating my hair and small pebbles hiding in and between my clothing.
The water was scorching when I stepped under the spray, but I needed it to be. I needed to feel cleansed in the way that only hot water could provide. The scrapes and cuts on my legs throbbed, as did the split in my lip, but after I was done, the shower had proved to be a form of therapy. I felt better about this whole situation.
My almost impossible goal is to find Gio and murder the son of a bitch in cold blood. I don’t know how long it will take, but whatever it is, it is. When my life is free of baggage, I will find Julius and show him I’m no longer a woman to depend on a man, that I don’t need him but want him. That my heart will belong to him no matter what his choices are.
I will be loyal, to the death. At the moment, loyalty is all I have to give.
Now, as I lie here, contemplating life’s mysteries, a knock at the door sounds. And I stop breathing.
Another knock. But still, I don’t rise.
When the voice sounds, my heart jumps.
It’s definitely not Wyatt.
“Jesus. C’mon, Alejandra. I saw you go in there,” the husky feminine voice accuses. “Let me in. It’s fucking cold.”
I move to slide out of bed but stop, sitting on the edge.
Her tone harsher, she hisses out, “If I have to guard you like a fucking hawk, I’m going to do it in comfort, bitch. Now let me in.”
Watch me?
Well, that has my attention. Could it be that Julius sent her to keep watch over me?
I’m not brave enough to hope. But I am bold enough to move toward the door. When I stand behind it, I call out, “What do you want, Ling?”
She lets out a trying growl. “I just told you. Shit. Let me in, will ya?”
I know it’s a stupid decision, and I roll my eyes as I do it, but I unlock the door and throw it open.
The attack I expect never comes.
She strides inside without sparing a glance at me, rubbing her arms then breathing in her hands for warmth. She grunts in annoyance. “It’s so much warmer in here, and he wants me to spend the night in the goddamn car? I don’t think so, boss man.”
That confirms my initial suspicion. Julius sent her.
And my heart soars.
I knew he was acting strange, out of character, and this is why.
He never wanted to leave me.
“Ling,” I huff out in irritation. “You can’t stay here. You need to leave.”
That’s when she turns to look at me. And I’m surprised at her reaction.
Her face softens as she takes me in, looking me up and down with a shake of her head. “Oh, Ana.” She moves toward me, but history has told me not to trust this woman—not fully, anyway—and I take a step back, away from her.
Undeterred, she throws me a look of utter sympathy and states, “You’re bleeding.”
For once, her high heels don’t click, muffled by the soft carpet as she moves closer to me. I don’t move from my spot. When she gets to me, she reaches up, and I try not to flinch. But the slap I think she’s about to deliver never lands at my cheek. Instead, she cups it gently, running her thumb over the corner of my mouth where I’m hurt.