Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 80471 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 402(@200wpm)___ 322(@250wpm)___ 268(@300wpm)
“Not in your own home,” I reasoned. “And you never had a kid to protect,” I added.
“Joel!” she gasped, trying to sit up, but I wrapped an arm around her middle.
“He’s okay. He’s waiting in the living room.”
“He’s hurt.”
“Just a cut. He’s fine. Just sit with me for a minute,” I said, resting my face against the side of her head. “Say okay.”
“Okay,” she agreed, melting into me, taking a slow, deep breath. On the exhale, more of the tension left her body.
“Taking another deep breath for me,” I said, nuzzling into her neck, feeling her pulse against my lips, still fast, but not frantic. “There you go. Told you it was gonna be okay,” I said as her breathing began to return to normal.
That was the wrong thing to say, it seemed.
She tensed and pulled away, then moved to stand, climbing out of the tub entirely, and going to the sink, scrubbing at the blood on her hands.
“I, I have to check on Joel,” she said, not even bothering to dry her hands as she grabbed her first aid kit then she rushed out of the bathroom and away from me.
On a sigh, I climbed out of the tub and followed.
Joel was exactly where I’d left him, surprisingly calm, considering what he’d been a part of.
“Here, let me see,” Cinna said, moving to sit on the coffee table in front of the kid, opening her kit, then using some antiseptic spray and gauze to clean the kid’s neck.
I’d seen her take care of many injured men over the years. She’d always been kind of rough about it. But she was surprisingly gentle as she took care of Joel, wincing as she wiped at the cut even though the kid showed no reaction.
“Are you okay?” she asked after slathering on some triple antibiotic and pressing on a giant bandage.
“I’m fine.”
“You were really fucking brave,” she told him, cleaning up her kit. “Stupid. But brave.”
“Couldn’t stand by and let him hurt you,” Joel said, shrugging.
“You could have. Plenty of others would.”
“He’s dead,” Joel said, glancing over at the body.
“Yeah,” she agreed, nodding.
“It was self-defense,” he insisted.
“Yeah,” she said.
“Are you calling the cops?”
“No,” she and I both answered at the same time.
The kid’s gaze slid to me.
“Ah, Joel, this is Dav. Dav, this is my neighbor, Joel.”
“He works for you?” I asked.
“He just keeps an eye on my door.”
“Since she got robbed,” Joel said.
“What?” I snapped, gaze sliding to her.
“It wasn’t a robbery,” she said, shrugging. “The place was just tossed.”
“Just tossed? Why didn’t you tell me?”
“Because it wasn’t your problem. I have it handled.”
“Yeah? ‘Cause it looks like relying on a kid to help you fight an entire crew that almost fucking killed you. The fuck is going on with you?”
“I don’t have time for your bullshit, Dav. I have shit to do,” she said, moving over toward the body, snatching up the knife, and tossing it into the sink, water on full blast.
“Did you forget that you’re a part of a family, Cin? That the whole point of that is to have people around to have your back?”
“This is my problem. Not theirs.”
“That’s not how this works.”
“Just this once, it has to be.”
There was no reasoning with her about this. Not right now anyway. She was in damage control mode.
This shit had to get cleaned up.
Then maybe I could convince her to let me in on this. Because things were not looking good.
She grabbed a bottle of bleach from under the counter, pouring it over the knife and sink, and just letting the water run as she turned back to the body.
“Do you know him?” I asked.
She stared down at him for a long time before shaking her head. “No.”
Then she was squatting down, patting his pockets, finding a wallet, and pulling it out. “Chet Wheaton,” she read off his license. “That means nothing to me. You?” she asked, looking up at me.
“No. And it doesn’t sound Irish or Russian.”
“Contract, maybe,” she mumbled to herself.
“It’s a name, at least. Something to go on.”
“Yeah,” she agreed, putting the wallet on the counter to deal with later.
“Suppose you don’t have any of those giant plastic garage totes,” I said, figuring this guy was too big to stuff in any luggage.
“No. And it’s too late to—“
“There’s one in the basement,” Joel cut in, making both of us turn in his direction. He shrugged. “Been down there forever. I can get it.”
“You’re already too involved in this,” she said. “Tell me where it is.”
“I’ll get it,” Joel said, hopping up. “I go down there all the time. It wouldn’t look weird. You don’t.”
“Joel, I can’t ask—“
“You’re not,” he cut her off, getting up and making his way to the door. He was gone before she could say anything else.
“Can you trust him?” I asked.
“I… I think so,” she said, taking a deep breath. “He needs the money,” she added. “Hear that?” she asked, holding a finger up.