Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77118 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Working for the Murphys and being fond of the bikers, I generally didn’t get involved with the cops, but I did file a report so they could snag that little asshole. He’d already sold my stereo and jewelry, but at least I got the satisfaction of watching them take him away in cuffs.
This, though, was not that.
Because I really didn’t have any friends anymore, aside from Dell.
But the economy wasn’t great, especially in our town. People were struggling. It wouldn’t exactly surprise me if someone knew I worked nights and decided to sneak in and help themselves to some of my shit.
I mean, technically, not much of it was worth anything. I didn’t work the kind of job that would allow me to have expensive taste. But I did work a job that meant a lot of cash tips. And I didn’t go to the bank every single day to deposit it. Which meant there was usually at least a couple hundred bucks stashed away in a drawer somewhere.
With all the shit that was going on, I don’t remember the last time I had been to the bank. So it was likely almost a grand sitting in a drawer.
God, had I even put it in a drawer? Was I so wrapped up in this other shit that I would have left it sitting out?
I’d like to say that I would never be that stupid. But the fact of the matter was, I was kind of out of my mind with worry. So anything was possible.
I needed that grand, if that was what it was.
I had bills to pay.
And on top of that, I really needed to keep some cash on hand because it was looking more and more like I might need to skip town to avoid Czar’s former—or current—organization.
Just the thought of that made my heart feel like it was cracking in my chest, but I really doubted they were just going to let me go when I lost their drugs and the money that went along with it.
And if I was going to start over somewhere, I needed cash. Especially if I started over in a big city which, objectively, was the smartest option. Even if the very idea made me a little queasy. I liked my small town. I liked my connections.
But if it was what had to happen, I was just going to have to deal with it.
Taking a deep breath, I pushed my door open.
To a freaking pigsty.
I wasn’t a fanatical housekeeper, but I lived alone. And I worked a lot. So my apartment stayed relatively neat all the time, plus or minus some clothes thrown around or dishes in the sink I’d been too lazy to wash up before I left for the day.
But all my drawers were opened, the contents spilled over the counters and on the floor. Glass and ceramic dishes and cups were shattered. My couch cushions were not only tossed around, but split open, their guts spread all over like snow.
Expensive snow.
I loved that damn couch.
A rich green velvet tufted thing that looked right out of a gothic novel.
It was discontinued.
Irreplaceable.
I was still looking at that couch when a shadow moved in my peripheral.
I noticed it quickly enough to have my stomach drop as it got close, but not fast enough to run, to scream, to fight.
One moment, it was coming at me, the next thing I knew, something was slamming into my face, then my face was slamming against the floor as I fell after cracking the cheap coffee table in half as I went down.
Which only crushed my chest, making it hard to suck in a breath, let alone move, before I felt a hand sink into the hair at the nape of my neck, grabbing, twisting, then slamming my head back down on the ground once again, making my vision flash white for one horrifying moment, making me think I was going to pass out.
Then what would happen to me?
I had to get up.
I had to fight.
Even as I tried to do so, my hair was yanked then I was slammed forward again. This time, I’d managed to turn my head, so the blow landed to my lower face, making my teeth ache, and my jaw scream.
I got my arms up under me just as the hands left my hair.
By the time I got onto all fours, then up onto my knees to stand, whoever was in my apartment had grabbed the decorative vase near my door, and slammed it into the side of my head.
Everything went black after that.
I woke up sprawled over my broken coffee table, my whole head feeling like a bruise.
A headache was screaming in my temple and there was the taste of old blood in my mouth.
But I seemed to be alone.
“Ow. Ow ow ow,” I whimpered as I folded up, using the couch to help me get up slowly, the pain intensifying with each movement, no matter how careful.