Total pages in book: 68
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 64501 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 323(@200wpm)___ 258(@250wpm)___ 215(@300wpm)
Alana doesn’t crumble or cry. “My mother as a victim at this point is about as rickety as a rotting, old stairwell. And to that point, I’ve been too wrapped up in grief to realize that I haven’t heard anything about a will. Was there life insurance? Did she inherit money?”
“I was going to bring it up after you had time to rest,” Blake replies. “The answer is yes, your father had life insurance. The policy is two million dollars, and your mother is the sole beneficiary, meaning you’re excluded.”
Her nostrils flare, her jaw clenching.
“That in itself hits me as odd,” Blake continues, “but as I see it, it’s a welcome shelter in what is likely to morph into a nasty investigation after Alana’s accusations.”
“Meaning what?” I prod.
“The policy hasn’t paid out,” Blake explains, “and I think you both should expect the insurance company’s investigators to come knocking on your door.”
“In that case,” Alana says, “I get what I wanted. Justice for my father and the end of West Senior, which is exactly why he’ll want my mother dead, by her own hand.” She pushes herself up to the couch cushion, and her gaze locks on the space before her. I wait for her to speak, but all that follows is silence, her thoughts indistinguishable at this point.
“Blake, I need you to keep her mother safe. We’ll talk in the morning about the plan going forward.”
“No,” Alana says, her voice as hollow as her expression. “She’s living in some fantasy novel she imagined and willed to life, over who knows how many years. And on that note, she has to reap the consequences of how that story ends. She’s on her own.”
Chapter Twenty-Two
Damion
Alana follows her declaration of her mother being on her own by pushing to her feet and traveling resolutely toward the living room window, placing space between herself and the phone call with Blake. I hit the button to disconnect the speaker and place the cell to my ear. “Blake, it’s Damion.”
“You don’t even have to say it. We’re watching her mother,” he says. “I’ll be there in the morning. Let me know if you need us sooner.”
We exchange a few more words and disconnect. I slide my phone in my pocket, my attention lifting to Alana, where she watches the hellish day finally end, a collage of gold and yellow painted across the skyline as the sun sinks low, hugging the high-rises. It’s a day we both will always remember, and yet we will always want to forget. But maybe forgetting is overrated. We must remember how easily life can change in the blink of an eye, how easily we can lose everything we love to truly value our blessings.
And each day with Alana is a blessing—the only one that matters to me.
I close the space between us, and when I step behind her, the sweet scent of the floral body wash she favors teases my nostrils. I want to just wash this day off of me, she’d said to me and Savage. There had been a desperation rooted deep in those words, a need to escape all memories of the hell she’s lived these past few hours. I wonder how hard she’d scrubbed her body, and I fear what it is she needed to wash away.
My hands settle on her shoulders, and touching her is everything and more. I thought I’d lost her. I thought I’d never lay my hands on her again. She whips around to face me. “You told him to protect her.” Her words drip with accusation, and crackle with anger.
My gaze slides over her delicate, heart-shaped face, her lips parted, her breathing labored, as if her mind is racing while she forces her body to remain still.
“I know you like I know myself. Letting her die is not who you are, Alana. I will not let you forget that, and I damn sure never will, either.” I cup her face and tilt her gaze to mine, her blue eyes glistening with unshed tears, but there is nothing weak about her in this moment. Instead, there’s an air of defiance that clings to her, a second skin that I fear is more about suppressing today’s events than defeating them.
As if she reads my thoughts, she says, “I don’t know what happened to me. I told you. I don’t know. I don’t remember.” She tries to pull away, and I hold onto her, capturing her narrow waist.
“Why are you pulling away from me? Stay with me. Let me help. And stop holding back because you think I’m going to kill him, Alana. The man deserves to die, but I’m not foolish enough to end up in jail, either. And I’m damn sure not wasting another day I could have with you. Today drove home how foolish I was to ever try to protect you by staying away from you. And you need to remember that. We’re better together, stronger together, Alana.”