Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75589 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 378(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Up and down the street, people are in their homes, cooking dinners, perhaps preparing for the same old routine tomorrow. If you get caught, Luxxie, your life will be even more mundane. Behind friggen bars.
There’s no time for fear. I lift one leg out the window and slowly press my Niked foot against the wrought iron. Then the next. Mom offers a bit of courage, too, as I stroll down the block toward the bus stop, pulling the hoodie over my head.
God, please forgive me. If Uncle Red hurt Momma, then he doesn’t deserve . . . to live. If he did not, he must now understand I’m at my friggen wit's end.
My leg jitters, and my breath fogs the chilly air. I keep glancing over my shoulder at my building.
I couldn’t bring Vic with me.
He rarely listens, so I don’t expect he’d give Uncle Red the benefit of the doubt.
Gears grind as the city bus stalls a foot away. I dish out change, clutching the gun in my opposite hand beneath my hoodie, and climb up the steps.
Fifteen minutes into the ride, my cell phone vibrates uncontrollably, but my mind needs to get into that dark place. I go back to the day that I found Mom’s dead body.
The life I led ended the day I came to our home in Harlem to find her in a puddle of blood. I’d sunk to my knees, claimed by heartache, and pulled her stiff, lifeless body, violated by a trillion brutal stab wounds to me.
With a glance outside the window, I notice that I’m getting closer to my destination. I’m drawing closer to Dr. Charles Everhart. Though my cell phone pulses incessantly, I keep my mind trained on the pain. The pain of the past. Death becomes bile rising from the pit of my stomach. I choke back the sourness. Every time I blink, Gina’s lifeless brown eyes stare back at me. As the bus continues to make stops, my fingertips caress her eyelids. My jaw clenches. I fight back tears. Malice abrades the dejection, worming through my gut.
The bus lurches to a stop at my designated stop. I’m on autopilot, clinging to my nightmare. As I stand up and head to the bus's back door, I pull out my phone from my back jean pocket.
“Yes, Vic.” I assume an eerie, calm tone that mimics Victor’s in the past. Yes, I can be a cold-blooded killer. I’ve fucked one.
“Luxury, I’ve looked for you for over an hour. It’s dark, sweetheart.” His tone mollifies me.
“Sorry, I couldn’t talk.”
“Little One, where are you?”
“About two blocks from Uncle Re—” I pause, gulping down the nickname I have for him. I need to stave off the anger. “Dr. Charles Everhart’s lab.”
When I find Charles, I’ll listen. Observe him for any signs that he hurt my momma. Then he’s dead.
“Okay. What’s the address?”
“I’ll text it to you.”
“Do me a favor, Little One. Share your location.” His tone is more accommodating than ever. He’s calculating, homing in on the glimmer of a nice guy. I can be that type of manipulative. Show kindness then strike. “We’ll visit the lab together,” Victor offers.
Still too benevolent for the likes of him.
I sigh, appreciating the fact that he’s not his usual demanding self. “I need to do this for me.”
“Exactly what are you bloody trying to do, Lux?” Victor hisses. “You have my gun.”
Swallowing my emotions, I set my jaw. “Oh, there you are. The Victor I know. Listen, I’m sorry for not asking. Don’t be mad at me.”
“Rubbish, Little One, I could never. Stop being rash. Do you bloody hear me? Stay with me and tell me precisely where you are.” He reverts to that calming motivational demeanor, which in retrospect, wouldn’t have challenged me to open up to him in the past.
Victor’s possessive.
Tyrannical.
I sigh and tell him the address. I’m heading for the Bronx.
“Okay, I’m getting on the lift at your apartment. I’ll need time to get there. Find a coffee shop, sit tight until I’ve called you.”
“Okay,” I sigh, dropping a shoulder against the bus pole, mindlessly glaring at the bus map. I’ll try.
After a few minutes of waiting for Victor, the past inundates my mind. My friggen brain has played tricks on me since Momma’s death.
Cold sweats.
Icy adrenaline.
I’m missing pieces of the past, or rather that of a certain age. I can’t fucking recall something.
Something big.
Something tragic.
But I’ve known enough tragedy to last a lifetime since stumbling upon my momma’s dead body. God, how much more can I bear?
I know Victor will be livid, but I slowly walk across the street.
“Vic won’t give Uncle Charles the benefit of the doubt. I have his gun. I can do this . . .”
After sliding my hand around a stop sign and meandering about it for a little while longer, my next stop is a row of garages. Momma and I had come here way back when. I can’t even remember how old I was. She was dropping something off. I try to determine which tan garage door belongs to Charles’s lab. I’d given Victor the address but not the unit number. I hesitate.