Total pages in book: 69
Estimated words: 69063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69063 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 345(@200wpm)___ 276(@250wpm)___ 230(@300wpm)
“But I spent a small fortune on all of the clothes that Desi currently has. Not to mention all of her makeup products. Do you truly have any concept of how much money it will cost to replace it all?” I asked. “I’m a cop, not a millionaire.”
“You’re doing damn good, and you know it. All that money you saved living in that shitty apartment,” he pointed out.
He was right. The rent at the complex was damn near a quarter of what I’d be spending anywhere else, and I’d been living the single life for years.
Other than my child support, which was a hefty chunk of change, I didn’t have any bills.
“I’ll think about it,” I grumbled.
Or maybe I just wouldn’t tell him my plans next time.
Something inside me told me to get all the shit that I needed now, because there wouldn’t be an opportunity later. And Desi had several clothing items that she considered irreplaceable due to where she’d gotten them.
Hell, she was wearing my old bomber jacket from high school all the time. If I didn’t get that back, she’d be devastated.
I’d given it to Desi because she’d loved it so much. But the thought of my ex-wife having a very sentimental item like that in her possession, pissed off and looking to hurt me any way she could, I could see her taking out her anger on Desi’s things.
Plus, she had a three-thousand-dollar-plus Mac desktop that I’d bought her a few months ago for school that I wouldn’t be replacing.
Needless to say, I wouldn’t be taking my brother’s advice on not getting Desi’s things because I didn’t see a point in wasting money.
“Bye, man,” I said as I shut the door on his amused face.
He knew me better than to think I’d just drop it.
“Hey,” I heard called as soon as I turned to head up the stairs that would lead me into the apartment building.
The complex was set up in a U shape with the office in the middle of the U.
Ben had dropped me off at the bottom level of the four-apartment building where I lived on the top floor with Nastya. The downstairs neighbor, a man that was in his late twenties and smoked so much weed that I could smell it in my own apartment, was the one that’d greeted me.
“’Sup, Julius. Haven’t seen you in a bit,” I said as I walked over to him and offered him my hand.
“Tell that bitch next to you that her cryin’s keeping me up,” he grumbled.
I frowned. “You work last night?”
“Yeah.” He sighed. “She fuckin’ got really loud earlier, too.”
I sighed. “Well, she was crying because her dog died. And the commotion earlier was from some sick fuck that decided that he wanted to put his hands on my daughter.”
Julius paused. “No shit?”
“No shit,” I confirmed.
“I was wondering.” He shook his head. “She made a lot of noise getting that dog out of the elevator then. The goddamn delivery truck also parked outside my apartment for goddamn ever today. I’m gonna die tonight trying to get through this shift.”
Julius wasn’t exactly the nicest person, but he was a watcher, and he always knew exactly what was going on in his hood.
“The delivery truck is Nastya’s, too. She’s an Amazon Reviewer or some shit,” I said. “And a secret shopper.”
“God help us.” He left, heading to his truck, an old beater that looked like it could stop working at any second if you breathed on it wrong.
I had to laugh when he started it up and it backfired, making it sound like a gunshot had just gone off.
He’s sitting there talking shit about Nastya’s deliveries when every time he started his truck, it sounded like gunfire that for sure woke me up, likely like it did our neighbors.
A smile stayed on my face until I headed for my bed a half hour later.
It slid right off when I heard the obnoxious sound of not only Nastya’s phone making noise, but my own as well.
I glared at the notification on my own phone.
I hacked into her account and had all the same apps that she did on her phone now after seeing how little she cared about her health.
I received a hundred thousand comments in the hours since I’d linked our phones, but I kept the notifications on for one reason and one reason only.
Her utter lack of caring when it came to her health.
As a type one diabetic, she should have way more control over herself and her blood sugar than she did.
But it was like she just didn’t care.
She silenced her notifications. She dismissed them.
She ate what she wanted, when she wanted, then dealt with the consequences later.
I fucking hated it.
My type A personality couldn’t handle it.
That was why I’d cloned her phone, so I could see when she was high.