Total pages in book: 64
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 62497 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 312(@200wpm)___ 250(@250wpm)___ 208(@300wpm)
“I—” Of course I didn’t. “He’s a client,” I say quietly knowing he wanted money moved illegally.
“So, you got the promotion.” He walks to the couch, sits, and kicks off his shoes. Then he finds the remote and turns on the television.
“You killed someone,” I whisper.
“I’d do it again. He’s lucky I found out about the photos after he was already dead. If I’d known before…”
“How did you kill him?”
“Bullet to the brain,” he says, as easily as someone says they’re going out for lunch. “Now, sit. My show is about to start.”
“You just told me you k-killed someone I k-know,” I sputter.
“You’re welcome.” He grins and taps the spot next to him.
“Did you really buy the apartment?”
“Yes, no one will live in it for a very long time.”
“I have to shower.” I need an excuse to get away from him for a few minutes.
“Probably a smart idea considering you have pissed down your leg.” I roll my eyes as I hear the introduction music to some television show.
At the door to my bedroom, I pause.
But like he has read my mind, he says, “I removed all the cameras. You’re fine.”
And I don’t know why, but for some reason, I believe him. Turning my head, I see him relaxed on my couch, not even looking my way. Yet somehow, he knew. I go into my bedroom and straight through to the bathroom, where I strip myself of all my clothes to shower, turning on the water as hot as possible. I know my skin will be red raw, and the scalding water burns my knees and hands, but right now, I don’t care.
It feels good.
Relaxing.
Therapeutic.
When I’m dried and dressed after my shower, I walk out and find him gone.
The only evidence he was even here is the television show playing in the background.
Sixteen
Kenzo
“Why did you go to Mayve’s?” I ask Kyson.
The dog is growling at him, wanting to chew his face off. Right now, I should let him.
“Why not tell me about her? Why does it bother you that I went there?” He stops moving toward me as the dog growls even louder.
“She has nothing to do with you…or work,” I insist.
“Yet, she’s married to you. I’d say she has everything to do with you, which means she has something to do with me,” he states, assuming his logic is sound.
“So, you’re saying I could go to your house right now and spend some one-on-one time with little Miss Kalilah?” His hands ball into fists at his sides. “See, that’s what I thought. But since you’re here, Pops wants to see me, and I figured you should come.”
“Do you plan to say anything?” Kyson asks.
“Yes.” It’s been brewing and brewing, and now I have evidence, and even I want answers.
“Why do you want me there? I found the information on him, and we left it to you to deal with. Since you are closest to him.”
“Because I may kill him if I don’t like the answer,” I reply matter-of-factly.
“So don’t take your gun,” he says, knowing me too well.
I pull it out and hand it over to him. “You hold it. I want it back the minute we leave his door though.”
My brothers are the only people I would let touch my guns on this earth.
And they both know it.
Knives are my favorite thing to play with, but guns are my preferred weapon to kill with.
There’s a difference.
To me.
A knife is a toy that brings pleasure.
A gun brings a different kind of pleasure but elicits a sense of work, so the adrenaline rush is different.
He takes the gun and slides it in his waistband. “Are you going to tell me more about her?” he asks.
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because she is none of your business,” I inform him.
He stops on the way to the car to look at me. The dog growls as we leave but shuts up when I glare at it. I’ll have to name it soon since I’m keeping it.
“You like her,” Kyson states as we move again and climb into the car. He starts the engine, and we head to Pops’s place.
“She faints at the sight of her own blood!” I scoff. He’s quiet for a beat and then laughs, loudly, hitting the steering wheel with the heel of his hand like some crazed lunatic.
“That’s rich. Oh my God. Wait till I tell Zuko. You like a woman who hates blood. Your one kink, and she hates it.” He bangs the steering wheel again, unable to stop his insatiable laughter.
“Shut the fuck up before I stab you,” I grumble.
He does, but the smirk stays put.
Asshole.
“She knows what you like?” he asks.
“Yes, she walked in on me in the red room.”
His head swings my way. “How the fuck did that happen? And why the fuck were you there again?” His mouth hangs open. “I bet she didn’t like that.”