Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 151469 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 757(@200wpm)___ 606(@250wpm)___ 505(@300wpm)
“What do you want?”
He’s silent for a time, telling me that whatever he wants is pretty fucking colossal.
“Talk, Spittle.”
He inhales, building himself up to say it.
“I want you to kill Brad Black.”
65
BEAU
Rainbows and sunshine, smiles and contentment. I don’t know where I am, but I never want to leave.
No pain, no darkness, no fear, and no anger.
But also . . . no James.
That alone is enough for me to back away from the enticing light. And as I do, the pain starts to build deep in my tummy. The darkness begins to shroud the light. My smile starts to fall.
My eyes snap open, and I inhale, the air hitting my lungs and burning them. I can’t see. Can’t focus. Can’t breathe. Can’t move. Nothing will move.
“Beau?” My name is being spoken repeatedly, over and over. “Beau. Beau. Beau.”
My cheeks are suddenly encased. My wild, darting eyes still.
“Beau, baby, look at me. See me.”
I blink the blurriness from my vision, trying so fucking hard to do that. To see him. But where is he? I can hear him. I can feel him. But I can’t see him. “James?” I croak, willing life into my muscles. “I can’t move. I can’t see you.” Panic takes hold, my body not listening to me, not taking the instruction.
“I’m here.”
“Where?” I yell, my throat raw. “Where are you?” Take me back to the light. Take me back to rainbows and sunshine. The pain and darkness are only worth bearing if he’s here, and he’s not here. “James!”
I jolt on the bed, and I still, a tidal wave of pain ripping through me. I cry out, trying desperately to curb the agony by making myself small, by curling into a ball. But I can’t move. “I can’t fucking move!”
“Hey, hey, hey.”
There he is again. Speaking but not showing himself.
Enigma.
66
JAMES
I give the doctor a nod, and he moves in, putting more meds in her arm to calm her. I don’t know how many times I can let him do that. Knock her out. Stall her waking. Delay having to tell her we’ve lost our baby. That Dexter disappeared without a trace. That the man responsible for her mother’s death is still out there. That Nathan Butler is dead.
Beau settles immediately, and I rest her hand by her side, tucking in the sheets around her. I go back to the message on my screen.
Ready when you are.
“You cool?” I ask Goldie, and she nods her agreement, resting back in the chair, her eyes lasers on Beau’s sleeping form. “Call me if anything changes.”
“She’s perfectly stable, Mr. Kelly,” the doctor says, a refined looking fellow who happily came out of retirement to help. “Keeping her still and peaceful will only aid her recovery.”
“Thanks, Doc.” I breathe in and turn, making my way to the door of the hotel room. A fucking hotel room. I meet Otto outside.
“Kel,” he says, grumpy as hell, falling into stride next to me. “Why the fuck are you being so cagey?”
If Otto knew what we’re doing, where we’re going, I’d be staring down the barrel of his Glock before I got to the finer details. “Because you won’t like it,” I answer, staring forward, my pace determined.
“I don’t like any of this shit, and it only started because you couldn’t keep your curiosity contained.”
“Fuck you, Otto. You know as well as I do that Beau was the key to ending this.” Literally.
“So where are we going?”
“To hell.”
He laughs. “I’m an honorary fucking resident, you dick.”
The Viking of a doorman pulls back the velvet rope, letting us pass, and the pumping music gets louder and louder until we’re in the thick of it, Fired Up filling the club. I look around the vast, dark space, strobe lighting bouncing off all the bare brick walls, the dance floor packed, the bar five deep.
And on a stage in the center, strippers.
“Now this is a bit of me,” Otto says, his eyes set on that center stage. “This ain’t hell, brother.”
“Enjoy, you tart,” I mutter, heading for the industrial metal stairs to the right, taking them two at a time to the top. I make my way to the edge and lean on the balustrade, looking down on the club. Brad Black’s club.
“What the fuck are you playing at?” Otto says, joining me, taking in the view. “Don’t just fuck off like that.”
“How long did it take you to notice I was gone?”
“Two spins of the pole and a grind.”
I laugh under my breath, my eyes casting back and forth across the space. “This is Brad Black’s place.”
He groans. “So you really have brought me to hell, you twisted fuck. What the fuck are we doing here?”
“I’ve been sent to kill him.”
He swings stunned eyes my way. “By who?”
“Spittle.”
“Why?”
Good fucking question. “I’m working on it. Go make yourself busy,” I order, gazing around the space, and because Otto knows I prefer to kill alone, he moves away, but he can’t hide his displeasure. And I know he won’t be far.