Total pages in book: 29
Estimated words: 27844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 27844 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 139(@200wpm)___ 111(@250wpm)___ 93(@300wpm)
And that was it.
It’s just been us since our parents passed away six years ago when I was nineteen and Keily was fifteen. The car wreck brought me home from college to take care of her, and it was then that I got into nursing instead of whatever I was going to do at college before. So, I worked, I studied my butt off, and I made sure Kiely had as close to normal teenage years as possible. Sure, she might be a little wild here and there, but this is something new.
This is something bad.
Five days of not hearing from her at all, and I snapped. I took vacation time at the hospital, flew to Boston, and I’ve been looking for her ever since. Her roommate at Boston University was a little flighty, and it didn’t seem like they were all that close anyways, so that was a dead end. A few of her professors seemed concerned, but only in kind of a surface way. The freaking police didn’t even think it was anything to worry about. Yeah, they took a statement and made a report, but the guy in charge of the case mostly just shrugged and told me she was probably “on spring break.”
Fucking what?
Finally, it was one of her regulars at the Irish bar she works at that gave me the first real tip. The guy said he’d seen a couple of “rough types” coming in to harass her on the job. That much I knew, but the guy was also a local Southie resident, and gave me a little more information on these guys that sent a chill through me: they weren’t just drunk dickheads who liked cat-calling bartenders. These guys were gang affiliated.
Even worse? They were affiliated with a gang known for getting girls hooked on drugs to pimp them out. Yeah that’s pretty much when I went from freaked out to scared out of my fucking mind.
The cops were still no help and were still convinced she was just “being a college kid” somewhere, like that’s even a thing. And so, I’ve spent the last few weeks digging hard into this. I’ve gone to every fucking Irish bar in Boston. I’ve paid bartenders and patrons and guys begging for change on street corners for information—anything at all.
I’ve poked my head into obvious “front” businesses—stores that clearly don’t sell a thing but exist to cover the drug factory or gambling den behind them. I’ve tried to buy my way into illicit poker games known for attracting the Boston underground types.
And nothing has gotten me any closer to finding Keily.
I sigh, stretching again. Fuck, I need a drink. A shower first, and then definitely a drink.
The water is hot and steaming, and I gasp as I slip under it. Fuck that feels good. I’m used to long shifts at the hospital, but the last few weeks have felt like years—I’m barely finding time to eat or sleep or bathe. I close my eyes and let it stream over me, my muscles relaxing as I sigh happily.
Slowly, I force myself to clear my head. I know it’s weird, but there’s a part of me—a big part of me—that knows Kiely is okay. I mean, that sounds ridiculous given what’s going on, but my sister and I are really, really close, and I know in my heart that if something really awful had happened to her, I’d have felt it somehow.
I just know it.
She’s still missing, and this whole situation is still completely fucked, but I cling to the notion that where she is, she’s okay. I just wish she’d reach out and let me know.
Instead, my mind clears and my body slowly uncoils, different thoughts slip into my head.
Different, hotter thoughts.
I blush when it seeps in, but it can’t be helped. The hotel I’m staying in is a dump, full of all sorts of sketchy types. That is, except for them. At first, I thought it was one guy, but after a few glimpses of “him” at the coffee vending machine in the hotel lobby, or outside, I slowly realized it was actually two of them—twins, I think. And it seems like they’re also staying in this shithole.
Crappy neighborhood, sketchy hotel, but crazy gorgeous guys.
I blush again.
…Yeah, it’s made for some, well, interesting nights alone when they’ve slipped into my head the last week or so.
Under the shower spray, my skin tingles as I think of them again—that dark hair, those chiseled jaws. And huge, like they’re freaking football linebackers or something. I think of the sleeve tattoo, the broad shoulders—the fact that one’s got dark eyes, and the other blue. I shiver, and the heat begins to swell inside of me. My hands slide down my body with a mind of their own, and I know there’s no stopping this.