Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
“Of course, Mr. Davies.” She pats my arm. “Get settled in bed. I’ll bring you a cup of tea.”
I let out a groan. “I’m not going to bed.”
“You need to rest, sweetheart,” Dad says.
“I’ll rest in the living room,” I negotiate. “I’ve spent months in a bed.”
“Okay. As long as you’re not on your feet for long periods of time.”
I give Dad a playful scowl. “Dr. Bentall said moving around is good. It promotes healing.”
“Yes, but I know you. If I give you half a chance, you’ll stand in the kitchen and cook for the next three days.”
I scrunch my nose and pretend to pout as I walk in the direction of the living room. “I’ll rest for two hours, but then I’m making food.”
“Listen to your father, Skylar. We don’t want you to go back to the hospital,” Louisa chastises me.
“I promise to get a lot of rest, but I also want to get back to cooking. I need a lot of practice before I can return to work.”
“You’re going back to work?” Dad asks as he follows me.
“Eventually. Dr. Bentall said I should be able to return to work after three months.”
I sit down on the couch I’ve adopted as mine and grab the remote for the TV. Lying down, I tuck one of the throw pillows beneath my head.
Giving Dad a sweet smile, I say, “I won’t overdo it. I promise.”
“Okay.”
“Can you bring my pillow from my bedroom?” I ask as I switch on the TV.
“Sure. Should I bring your blanket as well?”
I point at the throw draped over the back of the couch. “I’ll use this one if I get cold.”
Dad looks at me for a moment before he leaves to get my pillow.
I hear Louisa carry the shopping to the kitchen and then become aware of the familiar sounds of the house.
I missed this.
Using the remote, I scroll to my selection of cooking videos and press play.
Dad comes back into the living room with my pillow, and after he places it under my head, I snuggle into it.
“Can I bring you anything else?” Dad asks.
“No, thanks.” My eyes leave the TV screen to rest on him. “Are you going into the office today?”
He shakes his head. “I’m working from home this week.” When he heads to the doorway, he adds, “I’ll check in on you later.”
“Okay.”
I turn my attention back to the show and watch as the chef rubs spices into a filet.
Before the meat even gets to the pan, my eyes drift shut.
Chapter 8
Renzo
Unresolved anger is like cancer. It fucking spreads and destroys everything in its path.
I swing the bat at the fucker’s hip for the fourth time, and he howls with pain.
After posing as a buyer, Dario set up a meeting with this guy. He’s the one who sold Giulio’s information at the blood bank.
“Who the fuck did you give the information to?” I shout, unable to control my rage, as I slam the bat into his lower back.
“Please,” he begs through snot and tears. “Don’t kill me.”
We have him stripped down to his underwear, his body covered in bruises and blood.
Caught in a haze of white-hot wrath, I beat the fuck out of him until I’m breathless, and he’s a whimpering mess at my feet.
My body vibrates from the destructive emotions, and my voice is ice fucking cold as I ask, “Who did you sell the information to?”
“I only have…an email,” he whimpers. “I never…saw the person.”
“Give us the email,” I demand.
He lifts his head and tries to crawl a couple of feet away from me. “It’s on my phone.”
My eyes flick to Emilio, who quickly digs through the man’s clothes. Finding the cell phone, he brings it to me.
There’s no password, and when I go into the emails, I bark, “Which email?”
“The one from zero-three-six-snap,” he answers quickly, terror trembling in his voice.
Finding it, I forward the email to Dario with a request that he trace it.
I toss the device back to Emilio, then glare at the fucker on the floor. With hatred raging in my chest, I repeatedly bring the bat down on the fucker until I’m sure he’s dead.
That’s another one down, Giulio. I’ll find them all.
Dropping the bat to the floor, I mutter, “Clean up the mess.”
Leaving the room, I take the steps down and head to the restroom, where I wash my hands and splash water on my face. When my eyes lock on my reflection in the mirror, all I see is the rage carved into my features. My breaths fall heavy over my lips, and I focus on slowing them down.
After I’m done drying my hands, I go to the office where Elio’s working. He’s been taking care of everything while I’ve been hunting leads.
When I enter the office, Elio’s on a call. I take a seat on the couch, and pulling my phone from my pocket, I dial Dario’s number.