Total pages in book: 137
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138169 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
He looks away with forced detachment before he speaks again.
“I don’t come from a high-class background. I’m from a hole in the wall in Queens. My mother died giving birth to me. My father drank every waking moment and beat me and my brother raw. I was his favorite. White skin. The perfect canvas for blood and bruises.” His voice is so empty, so cold, so much emotion buried soul-deep. That fierce, chilling smile resurfaces. “I’m not asking for your sympathy. Isn’t it ironic that I escaped alcoholic hell as a bartender?”
I don’t know what to say.
My heart aches for him, and I don’t want to say a single word to hurt him more than he’s already suffered.
If he wasn’t a little drunk himself, I doubt he’d be saying this stuff.
But I’m frozen, torn between the ache of wanting to comfort him and this feeling like I should keep my distance.
Rolf breaks away from his spot near Micah’s chair and trots over with a little whine, his ears perking. I’m half expecting him to snarl at me for upsetting his master, but instead, he grumbles and lays his head on my knee, looking up at me.
Like he’s asking me to fix this.
To help Micah when he can’t.
I pry one hand away from my glass and scratch between his ears. “Now you like me, huh?”
Micah glances back at me, his mouth a humorless line. “He’s a better mind reader than me. What are you thinking right now, Shortcake?”
I hesitate, too focused on scratching Rolf, who leans against my leg.
I don’t just want to say the right words. I want the honest ones.
“Mostly that I don’t want you to regret telling me any of that,” I whisper.
“Interesting answer.” Micah’s heavy gaze weighs on me before he leans forward to scratch Rolf’s ruff. “Guess he likes it.”
And you? I wonder. What do you think?
But I don’t ask him.
I just go still as my hand strays down Rolf’s head while Micah’s hand moves up.
Our fingers brush.
We both stop moving.
Our eyes lock.
There’s an electric charge that feels like static.
My stomach twists, my heart pounding as Micah holds my eyes.
God, I still don’t understand what I’m seeing there.
But I feel like those eyes could swallow me up, this hypnotic gaze watching me above the lenses of his glasses, drawing me in until I’m willing prey to this wild creature.
For a moment, we lean toward each other.
Then Rolf lets out a curious sound, shoving his head between us and knocking us away from each other.
Inhaling sharply, I pull back.
Micah looks away, still scratching the dog but no longer looking at me.
“What did you find today? Anything useful?” he asks gruffly.
Right.
Business.
That comes first and apparently last.
I try to calm my fluttery insides but it’s like my pulse is on fire. I take a sip of the cool drink just to focus on something else before I speak again.
“A lot of things. I talked to Joseph Peters alone, very briefly. He knew the woman who died there last year. Cora Lafayette, right? He said she treated him like family, and he’s clearly still bitter about it.”
“He might be open to turning the tables on the people responsible for her death, then. And since Aleksander isn’t around, Xavier could be the next best thing.”
“Maybe,” I say with a shrug. “I don’t know. I feel like I upset him. He might not want anything to do with us.”
“You’d be surprised what revenge will push you to do, Talia.”
Micah would know, wouldn’t he?
I lick my lips, catching a few stray grains of sugar.
“There’s something else. When I got to Xavier’s office, he was sniffing my scarf—the one I forgot there the other day.” Micah’s head whips toward me, his eyes narrowing as I rush on. “And, um, he had a little silver tray with a business card on it. I swear there were a few streaks of white powder. I think he was high. His eyes were odd and really jittery.”
“Rewind,” Micah snaps. “He was sniffing your scarf? What the fuck?”
I wince. “…y-yeah. He said my perfume smelled like flowers and he was trying to figure out which ones so he could keep them in the house. I told him I don’t wear perfume.”
“Go on.” Micah’s brows twitch dangerously. “What else did he say?”
I swallow thickly.
“That it must be my own natural scent. Gross, I know. I kind of zoned out because I was a little freaked.”
“That fucking man is lucky I don’t slit his throat.”
I do a double take.
He says it so calmly, so matter-of-factly, like it’s just an everyday thing to contemplate brutally killing a man over insulting a girl he barely knows.
I stare at him and he stares back, fierce and sharp as a blade. Then he lets out a ragged sigh and looks away.
“Relax. I’m not looking for prison time.”