Total pages in book: 164
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 152853 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 764(@200wpm)___ 611(@250wpm)___ 510(@300wpm)
CHAPTER 23
ROMERO
"Don't! Romero, don't!"
I wake trembling in a pool of ice cold sweat with that scream echoing in my head. Fuck, it's so vivid. When I look around the bedroom, I almost expect to find my old Harley posters on the wall. I'm sixteen again, and there's a lifetime worth of rage built up in me, and it has to go somewhere. Because I've snapped. There's no going back.
And she's begging me to stop, and I can't. I won't.
At least it's not the middle of the night. There's nothing like waking up from a vivid dream that's more of a memory than finding yourself alone in the dark. In the dark, your mind can paint ugly pictures. It's easier to breathe, easier to remember what's real when daylight leaks through the slats in the blinds. That was then, this is now, all that sort of stuff.
I sit up, glad to peel my bare back away from the clammy sheets that will have to be changed now. At least it's something to do, a reason to get my ass out of bed. I strip it quickly, tossing the damp cotton in the corner before heading out to the bathroom. A hot shower washes away the last of those lingering screams. They get louder all the time. Clearer.
The front room is still closed and quiet when I step into the hall, with steam billowing out behind me. I don't expect her to wake up this early, but she's made it a point to avoid me since that disaster of a self-defense lesson. She could be wide awake and waiting for me to head downstairs.
It's easier this way. The less we see each other, the lower the chance of one or both of us making a mistake. The way I came damn close to giving her what she was begging for. She'll never understand the temptation. She's not the only one who wants to forget the past for even a brief, fleeting moment.
I'm quiet as I pull a fitted sheet and pillowcases from the shelf between our rooms. Making the bed is only a distraction from what I'd rather do. It would be so easy to open that door at the end of the hall and indulge myself in her. I can see her wide, shocked eyes and know the shock would turn to blazing desire in the time it would take to cross the room. She'd lie back and part her legs for me—welcoming, demanding. Her touch would light up everything in me I thought was dead and gone, like it always does. I could forget everything but her and what she does to me.
There's no forgetting. There's only distraction, which is what she is. There are other, safer distractions that won't end up getting me killed by an enraged father.
It's only a few minutes before the bed's made, and I'm dressed and heading downstairs for some much-needed coffee. The espresso machine Tatum insisted on ordering was a good idea in the end. A double shot with steamed milk is one of the comforts I've come to depend on. There I was, thinking I hadn't softened up too much over the years. Boy, was I wrong.
It's quiet enough that a soft sound from the backyard rings out loud and clear. I step up to the window over the sink and find three kids like the ones Tatum described a while back. "Little shits," I whisper, watching as two of them provide cover for the third as he tries to pick the padlock on the door.
Instinct makes me react before I can think. There's a gun in the drawer, closest to the back door — I withdraw it without looking, eyes fixed on the window, waiting to see what happens next.
Suddenly, there's excitement, the three of them grinning as the lock picker drops the lock onto the ground before easing open one of the two swinging doors wide enough for them to slip inside. I wait until they're in before easing open the back door and creeping slowly down the steps. I hear them whispering loud enough for half the neighborhood to hear. They are not very good at this, but then they're kids. I don't expect much better. God knows I wasn't an expert at their age.
"Don't turn on the light!"
"There's nothing in here. I fucking told you!"
"We could take the bike."
"How the hell do we get out of here, genius?"
They could be me, Dex, and Austin at that age. That's why I cross the yard, ignoring the cold that seeps in through my sweater, holding the gun close to my side. I bend to pick up the lock in one swift motion, then shut the door and slide the lock into place. There's a moment of stunned silence before all three of them start shouting and banging while I take my time rounding the garage and unlocking the small side door they either don't know about or are too panicked to consider. Really, if they're going to steal, they should at least case the location.