Total pages in book: 115
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 112056 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 560(@200wpm)___ 448(@250wpm)___ 374(@300wpm)
I won’t stop until they feel a tenth of the pain I do.
Running my fingers through the holes and splinters of my beloved belonging, my teeth wedged together and another level of pain filled me. An emotional pain. A soul-deep agony.
I couldn’t bring my father back to life and I couldn’t fix my cello.
It was as dead as my family and loneliness slammed into me with a vicious, vicious fist.
I doubled over, grabbing the fingerboard and throttling it. How dare it be in the crossfires? How dare it cease to play my melodies?
My rage overflowed, and I couldn’t stop it anymore.
I didn’t have the men responsible for this mess.
I couldn’t kill them…yet.
I didn’t have Pim to take care of.
I didn’t have a way to reincarnate the dead.
I only had my wounds, my agony, my temper, and my bullet-broken cello.
Holding the spoils of war, I no longer saw my cherished instrument that’d saved me from so much emotional shit. I only saw everything I hated and everyone I would destroy.
Buggered shoulder be damned. Ruined elbow be fucked. Broken finger and fractured ankle be screwed. I swung the cello up over my head and smashed it against the ground.
Ricocheting wood and pegs pinged and cracked. Fingerboard pieces flew and end pins harpooned into the floor.
My body begged to rest.
My ankle couldn’t hold my weight. My ribs screamed. My head throbbed.
But I didn’t stop.
I destroyed my cello until it was nothing but dust.
I gave it the memorial and burial of a lifetime.
And I promised I’d do the same to the bastards who took Pim.
Chapter Four
______________________________
Pimlico
FOR ALL MY out of character rage and holding Suzette hostage, I struggled to harness fake bravery the moment the standoff was over.
My voice and confidence were still so new that using them drained me to the point of utter exhaustion. Being so inexperienced at barking commands and not cowering under retorts meant I sat opposite Tess with my heart impersonating a cheetah, beating as fast as it could, hoping against hope that she didn’t see how everything I did was an act—a role I desperately wanted to play but had yet to learn the script.
Tess’s head cocked, her gaze sharp and unforgiving. Nerves catapulted down my spine as she sniffed, perhaps seeing more than I wanted her to or correctly assuming things I couldn’t hide.
Anxious shakes found me.
Nervous flutters filled me.
A suddenly dry throat stole the rest of my debate.
Tearing my eyes from her, I glanced around the library where we sat.
She’d changed her mind against escorting me into the lounge the moment I’d nodded and went to follow. She’d glanced at the general untidiness of the living room and quickly strode across the foyer into the oppressive but impressive library.
Red leather-bound editions, midnight blue novels, and more recent colourful paperbacks slept on shelves towering around us. It might’ve been a shadowing, looming place if the artfully placed lamps didn’t turn it into a full room embrace.
Interspersed with ancient, expensive classics sprawled the bright garish illustrations of children books.
I inhaled sharply as yet more baby stuff appeared now I’d noticed.
A tiny bib sat on a closed laptop on the desk by the window. A rattle lay forgotten on the sheepskin rug by the fireplace. A pacifier lolled on a blue blanket on the arm of the chair Tess sat in.
The anxiety in my stomach hardened into yet another reminder that my life would never have such things cluttering it. If I ever had a library as nice as this, it wouldn’t be decorated with baby paraphernalia.
Tess caught me staring at the pacifier. Picking it up, she placed it smoothly into her jeans pocket as if she didn’t want me looking. “So…” Clearing her throat, she relaxed into her chair, the back soaring up like wings behind her. “Let’s start at the beginning, shall we? What’s your name?”
For someone who’d grown used to talking to strangers and friends—for someone who’d been held in police captivity and had no choice but to say her true name—I still wasn’t comfortable handing out such personal information.
It wasn’t right.
Society had taught us a name was the first thing given to a stranger. That it was unimportant.
Can’t people see it’s the total opposite?
A name was the most personal thing anyone could give. It was their title, their identity, the one word that could summon or dismiss them.
Tasmin was alive and breathing inside me now. I could no longer deny her existence or the knowledge that one day…I would claim that name for myself.
But if I wasn’t ready, if I wasn’t worthy…what made anyone else so?
Letting heavy silence scatter into the carpet by our feet, Tess didn’t ask again or prompt me to reply. She didn’t seem to mind the tautness existing between us, and I’d lived with such angst-ridden silence for too long to cower beneath it.