Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 83071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83071 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 415(@200wpm)___ 332(@250wpm)___ 277(@300wpm)
“Come on, wake up.” He shook him as he took the stairs one at a time, quietly reaching the foyer.
A footstep creaked against the floorboard at the top of the stairs.
He should run, but he stopped to turn to see if the sound was his imagination—or something worse.
At the top of the stairs stood his father, tall and lean, glasses sitting on the bridge of his nose. And in his slender fingers was a gun, a silencer attached over the barrel. With narrowed eyes and a promise of retribution, he looked down at his two boys as they tried to flee.
Paralyzed, the boy stood there, holding his brother in his straining arms.
A standoff of silence emerged, a battle of silent hostility. The family home was the scene of a murder, every family holiday and birthday erased by the blood staining every pillow.
He raised his gun—and pointed it at his son. “Don’t you run.”
But he did anyway. He sprinted to the door, almost losing his grip on his brother, and made it out the front door to the steps. But he tripped, dropping his brother in the process. “Wake up!” He tried to scoop him into his arms, but the pouring rain and darkness made it impossible to get a grip.
The impact shattered the spell, and his younger brother sat up. “What’s going on—”
“Run! Come on! Run!” He grabbed him by the hand and pulled him down the sidewalk.
Gunshots rang into the night, aimed right at their backs.
Both boys sprinted down the sidewalk, heaving with the exertion, running away from something that neither understood. With only the clothes on their backs, they escaped without a single coin in their pockets, without the experience to survive the cold and harsh world that had just welcomed them with open arms.
1
The Eiffel Tower
Raven
I sat at the desk facing the window on the second story, my notebook opened to the page that held the notes I’d quickly jotted down. My stack of books was beside me, all the classics, Les Misérables, The Count of Monte Cristo, The Hunchback of Notre Dame. It was a beautiful evening at sunset, the skyline a subtle pink color, a clear sky in the depth of winter. Far in the distance, I could see the most recognizable example of French architecture—the Eiffel Tower.
My eyes dropped down to the street below, the sidewalk filled with Parisians in their winter coats, walking home from work or on the town for an early dinner in a city with the best assortments of breads and cheeses in the world, not to mention wine. I grabbed my mug and lifted it to my lips, taking a drink of coffee full of cinnamon and nutmeg, along with a hint of pumpkin.
That was when I noticed a man down below, on the sidewalk and against the iron lamppost, standing behind a blue Fiat. A cigarette was between his fingers, and he brought it to his lips for a deep drag, his eyes focused on the front door of my apartment.
At least, it seemed like that was what he was looking at.
A thick beard covered his jaw and his neck, and the dark color matched the curls on the top of his head. He had brown eyes of the same color, nearly black. In a brown trench coat, he looked like a man who worked at a local newspaper, someone who had stepped out of the office to enjoy a cigarette break.
But his gaze unnerved me.
Melanie’s footsteps were audible behind me. “Alright, I’m heading out.” She passed by my door without stopping, her feet loud on the wooden stairs because she was taking them two at a time, running late like usual.
“Bye,” I called after her, my eyes still on the man who had his eyes trained in my direction.
The front door shut behind her, announcing her departure.
He brought the cigarette to his lips and took another drag, his eyes shifting as his gaze followed my sister’s progress up the sidewalk—as if he’d been waiting for her.
I rose from my chair, fear erupting in my heart like an explosion. My younger sister was the beautiful one, the one who got free drinks everywhere she went, who could have any guy she wanted—because every guy wanted her.
And I’d kill any guy who would do her harm.
But his interest faded, and he dropped his cigarette on the ground, stepped on it with his shoe, and headed up the sidewalk in the opposite direction from my sister.
Was I just paranoid?
Or did something just happen?
“Your sister is fun.” Samantha sat across from me with her glass of rosé. The wine bar was lit up while the streets of Paris were dimmed outside the large windows, showing everyone enjoying the city during the busiest time of the year. It was known as the city of love, and there were definitely a lot of couples taking in the sights during winter break. “How long is she staying with you?”