Total pages in book: 138
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 134654 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 673(@200wpm)___ 539(@250wpm)___ 449(@300wpm)
“Whoa, now I have to meet him.”
For a second, I wished I were back in England, curled up on the couch and sipping dirty martinis while plotting our future and fawning over ideals of future husbands. The only thing was, every trait I ever wished for in a future lover was everything Arthur was and had been in our youth.
“Oh, by the way, your case worker called last week. You forgot about the regular check-in.”
I slapped my forehead. “Shit.”
“I covered for you, but I don’t think she bought it. I’d call them if you don’t want some angry FBI dude chasing you down. Mom and Pop have been chatting with someone, too. They’re not happy that you upped and left. Going to have some explaining to do.”
“Thanks.” An awkward pause followed. There was so much to say and not enough time. Sighing, I said, “I have so much to tell you, Corrine, but I have to go.”
“Aww, that sucks. Just when it was getting juicy.” Her tone lost its joviality, sliding into serious. “Sarah … everything is okay … isn’t it?” A pregnant pause. “Do you remember—what happened to you, I mean? Do you know how you got the scars?”
I held my breath. How could she ever understand the world I’d been born into and the circumstances that forced me out of it? She was smart, sweet, and strong but so innocent at the same time.
“Yes. I did remember. I know how I was burned and I know who did it.”
“Are you safe? What can you tell me? Give me something—anything.”
Flicking through my revelations and problems, I decided on the issue raised thanks to Dagger Rose. “I inherited a large estate. But I can’t claim it.”
“Why not?”
“Because I have to come back from the dead.”
A shiver ran down my spine. On paper I’d died years ago. How did one come back from the grave?
“What do you mean?” Corrine’s voice trembled.
“I mean my name isn’t Sarah, it’s Cleo. I’ve fallen back in love with the boy who stole my heart when we were young, and I’m about to help him end the man who killed my parents before trying to murder me.”
The silence was long and deafening.
When Corrine didn’t respond, I said, “You still there?”
Corrine said, “That’s a lot to dump on a girl.”
We didn’t speak for a while, finally Corrine whispered, “So my sister’s name is Cleo and she’s a ghost.”
Smoke and soot and sausages.
The scents shot up my nose, igniting hunger and welcoming me outside.
Corrine had understood when I said I truly had to go. She’d assured me she would let her parents know I was safe and I promised I’d call again soon. I meant what I said about taking Arthur to visit them. My foster family could never replace my real parents but they’d been so good to me and I loved them.
The door behind me swung closed as I crossed the threshold from Clubhouse to backyard. I hadn’t explored the expansive grassy lawn leading to a fence cutting off the everglades. The grass was thick and lusciously green.
The sun had put itself to bed, and the stars had decided to break all bedtime rules and pepper-sprayed the rich velvet of the sky. Constellations twinkled brightly, the perfect backdrop for the gathered members and the relaxing embrace of an evening of laughter, good food, and great friends.
“Holy shit, it’s alive!” someone yelled. Followed by, “Didn’t know we had a damn dragon!” Men abandoned their beers on strewn tables or on the ground by chair legs as they raced toward billowing black smoke.
Three men with vests marking them as prospects fanned tea towels and dueled the morphing blackness with cooking tongs.
“Christ’s sake.” Mo jogged across the grass and slammed the lid down on the flaming barbeque. Coughing and wafting at the smoke cloud hovering over his head, he growled, “What the fuck are you doing to our steaks?”
Grasshopper stomped over, snatched the tongs from the closest prospect, whose eyes ran red with soot, and shoved the other two aside. “What kind of man can’t barbeque without setting the fucking place on fire?”
A prospect with a large gauge in his ear shrugged. He looked completely happy to give up control. “You told me to get the chow ready. I tried to tell ya that I’ve never cooked in my life. Not my fault you didn’t listen.”
“How hard is it to work a fucking grill?” Mo asked, hoisting up the cover of the barbeque and assessing the damage now the flames were out. The smoke lazily dispersed like spirits summoned back to the underworld.
The two other prospects, one with long ratty blond hair in a ponytail and another freshly shaven, snickered. “Yeah, Mo. You should know not to trust Beetle with anything.”
Shaking my head, I ignored the instruction on how to cook a perfect steak and focused on the rest of the gathering. A chain-link fence barricaded us in and kept trespassers out, while a few sparse trees had been layered with fairy lights by some overzealous old lady.