Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 94686 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 473(@200wpm)___ 379(@250wpm)___ 316(@300wpm)
“You really think that you’ll lay on your death bed happy that you fucked your brother?”
“Yes. If that brother is you.”
She’s lost her mind and my dick is still hard. I gotta get out of here.
“I’ll be right back.” I rose and hoped there was another bathroom on the plane.
I needed to hide until we landed. What she was saying was making sense in a strange way. Sure we could do that, but people didn’t just do what the fuck they wanted to do. The world judged stuff like this cruelly. Plus, no one would be happy to see Viv and me walking hand-in-hand to anybody’s house. People would be vomiting before we could knock on the door and ask to come in.
Adjusting myself in my jeans, I headed down the passageway.
Music lingered from where Chase and Jasmine slept at the end of the hallway.
I was sure that man couldn’t wait to get Jazz all alone. He’d gaped at her the whole dinner. Cats like that scared the shit out of me. They loved too hard. If Jazz ever wanted to leave him, I could see a problem on his end, and I wasn’t sure he had many limits. This plane ride to Italy was a prime example. Lucky for him I thought Jazz should be out of the states too, and if rich boy wanted to do it, then fine.
A door opened on the right, revealing a small room with the lights on. I peeked in. Two TV screens hung on the wall, but they weren’t on. A long couch sat at the end, next to a small coffee table. A stack of boxes lay on top. I headed in and closed the door behind me. Big binders filled the boxes. I caught Jazz’s name on one. Another one read Lucy.
This must be those binders Jazz was talking about when she found her birth certificate. I asked Chase to see them and he lied to me. This fool kept the evidence with him, when he told me that it was all in Italy.
Apparently, he’d already flown several men ahead of us to look at some area where he thought a gun was buried.
Why would a rich motherfucker bury a gun?
He acted real nervous about saying anything more, which told me that blood was on his hands somehow. That scared me. Anytime a guy with Chase’s power was nervous, I liked to get the fuck out of the way. It always meant that bigger players were in the game, ones that he couldn’t protect himself from. Whoever died from this gun that was buried had some big hitters in his or her corner. I didn’t like secrets when it concerned me or my sister.
I sat down on the couch and pulled the biggest box to me. “Hello, Lucy.”
Her binder sat heavy in my hands. Lots of pages stuck out as if someone had already been going through it over and over, but couldn’t find a particular item they needed. I opened the first page and a blonde little girl smiled back at me. Her birth certificate read “Lucielle Pedrotti,” born to Alfonso Perdrotti and Serafina Stonetti. I flipped through her school records. She’d been to several different boarding schools until finally at thirteen she’d been switched to a personal tutor.
That’s weird. I wonder why they took her out of school.
She had top grades, yet teachers expressed that she didn’t communicate well with the others. Her last teacher made a point of saying that she would burst out in tears at any given moment which disrupted the class each time.
O-kay.
Next were her psych files. That served as the bulk of the binder. Large envelopes stuffed with flimsy papers. Charts and graphs from several tests that had been done on her, even a few X-rays of her brain.
Damn. This is what good health insurance gets you, huh?
Without knowledge of psychology, I couldn’t decipher through the doctors’ squiggly notes. It was like a maze of words and statements that together meant nothing and separate confused me even more. Lots of stuff came up as I browsed through those sheets.
Possible post-traumatic stress disorder from a major event that she refuses to discuss.
Continuous nightmares that deal with her as a tiny mouse trapped within a scientist’s lab, but she can never describe his or her face.
She has a fear of copper so extreme that she faints if it is brought around her.
I placed her records on the table. I’d have to let Jazz use her Harvard brain for some of this. I didn’t trust Chase to be real with me, not when he’d lied about the location of the files. Lucy’s medical records came up next. She had undergone typical physical examinations. Again, I wasn’t up to date on what should be there or not, but everything looked normal. I’d had most of the same things done in jail—blood tests and what not. What caught my eye was the only thing out of order, this thick discussion on reconstructive surgery called vaginoplasty.