Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76309 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 382(@200wpm)___ 305(@250wpm)___ 254(@300wpm)
But his face softens. “What do you mean by that?”
“It’s nothing.” I try to pull away.
“Renata.” He drags me closer to him. The big bastard. “What are you talking about, you want to feel useful?”
I seethe there for a moment, breathing in his smell. Hating him for the way he makes me feel. Until I manage to wrench my wrist away and stagger backwards, bumping into the wall. I look down at the carpet, unable to meet his gaze.
“I know Grandpop needs me. I know that’s important. But it’s like—” I hesitate, not sure how to explain.
“Talk to me.” He moves closer. “Don’t bottle it up. Don’t hide away again.”
My teeth grind together. “He’s dying, Lanzo. He’s dying and I can’t do anything to stop it.”
I feel stupid. It’s so obvious, so cheap. But it’s the truth. My Grandpop is dying of cancer, and no matter how hard I try, no matter how much work I put into taking care of him, I can’t change that fact. I’m powerless against the cancer that’s eating away at his lungs. The cancer that’s going to take him from me, the only person in my life that ever cared about me, and it breaks me. It shatters me, how weak I am in the face of that.
Lanzo softens. He sighs, shaking his head. “Killing Burian won’t help.”
“It could.” I meet his gaze. Tears roll down my face, but I wipe them away. To hell with crying. To hell with self-pity. “Helping you find and kill Burian might make me feel better at least.”
“It won’t,” he says like he has any idea. “Trust me. I understand you think helping me will give you a purpose, but it won’t do a damn thing besides put your life in danger. Let me handle Burian.”
I tilt my head back, looking up at the ceiling. I know he’s right. Only I hate him too. “Why do I feel this way? Like no matter what I do, something’s missing?”
His hand brushes my cheek. I whisper softly as some of the emotion building up in my chest dissipates. “Because you’re going through something hard. Losing someone important like your Grandpop, watching it happen, that’s not easy. You’re going to carry that. But putting yourself through hell just to feel like you can make some tiny difference, that’s not going to help anything.”
“That’s what you don’t get.” I lean back against the kitchen counter. “It’s not just Grandpop, it’s everything. My whole life I’ve been drifting along, doing what’s right, what’s expected, but never what feels good.” I close my eyes, feeling like such a selfish piece of shit. “When that guy was strangling me, you know what I thought? I kept thinking, wow, I’m going to die a worthless nothing. I haven’t done a damn thing.”
He grunts and grabs my hand. He pulls it to his mouth then bites down on my knuckle. I yank my hand away, gaping at him in shock, too pissed to do much more than wave my arms in the air. “What the hell are you doing?” I finally blurt out.
“Distracting you. Did it work?”
“Distracting me from what? The fact that you’re insane? because it definitely didn’t work.”
“I need you to stop thinking of yourself like that. I can sit here and explain how you’ve done more good in the world than I have, how you’ve got people that love you and depend on you, whereas I’ve done nothing but travel around acting like a damn ghost. You’re the realest thing I’ve ever met. But instead, I thought I’d bite you.”
“How the hell—” I shake my head, trying to come to grips with the weird bite and that flattering admission. “You don’t make any sense at all, you know that?”
“I know,” he says, head tilted to the side. “But you’re not thinking about yourself now, are you?”
“No, I’m thinking about my knuckle and whether you’re going to bite me again like a rabid freaking wolf.” His eyes light up. A smile comes across his lips. My stomach twists with fear and excitement. “Don’t look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like that was an invitation. Which it wasn’t.”
“I don’t know. You do look delicious.”
“Lanzo. This isn’t funny. I’m still pissed at you.”
“Good,” he says, reaching for me.
I duck out of the way, barely managing to twist from his grip. “I’m serious, you maniac. Really mad over here! Feeling all sorts of self-pity!”
“You keep on feeling that pity, girl, and I’ll bite the fuck out of you in the meantime.”
“You’re out of your—” I dive past him, scrambling into the hall. He laughs, trying to catch my arm, but misses. I careen off the wall, into the living room, and grab a few ornamental pillows. “Bite this, you sicko.” I throw them at his face.
He lets them hit him, still coming. “I like a little struggle. It’s fun, isn’t it?”