Total pages in book: 62
Estimated words: 58449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58449 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 292(@200wpm)___ 234(@250wpm)___ 195(@300wpm)
“I don’t believe you,” she said defiantly.
I sighed. My right knee hurt from kicking down the door, and I wanted to try to scrub as much blood from the soles of my shoes as I could before I went to bed. I didn’t have time to stand around and argue.
“Do what you want,” I said. “But if you run, you’re dead.” I started walking then, and truly didn’t give a shit what she did. I almost wished she’d try to make a break for it—at least then she wouldn’t be my problem anymore. The Don would be angry that she got away, but he’d get over that.
Unfortunately, she followed. I did my best not to look at her as we made our way to my apartment. I unlocked the unmarked metal door that was tucked in an alcove next to the Mexican place’s entrance, and walked up the creaking steps. I opened another door, and stepped into my place.
Tara followed me inside. I shut and locked the door behind me.
“Welcome home,” I said, and tossed my keys in a little plate on a side table next to the door, beneath the intercom.
She lingered, looking around, and said nothing as I took off my shoes and got a scrub brush from the kitchen. I stood over the sink, water running, and went to town. The blood came off in pink rivulets.
My place was spacious. I had the whole second floor to myself. There were two bedrooms, a full bathroom, a nice sized living room with pretty bay windows overlooking a park across the street, and a decent kitchen with new appliances. I had good furniture, shit from this local artisan guy that charged way too much money, but I had more cash than I could ever spend. Art hung on the walls, mostly stuff I’d bought from local street guys that sold their stuff on the sidewalk during flea markets. It was a mishmash of styles, from cartoons of Star Wars characters to more serious realistic portraits of women I’d never met before. I had plants blooming from large clay pots, and decorative vases, and colorful throw pillows, and nice, heavy rugs, and the place was really fucking cozy.
I was a killer, but I liked comfort.
“What am I supposed to do?” Tara asked, standing in the little doorway. The kitchen was separated from the living room by a long counter, and she leaned against it, chewing her lip.
“I’ve got a spare room,” I said. “Go sleep in there. I’ll get you some clothes. Beyond that, I don’t know. We’ll figure it out.”
She stood there slumped over the counter, and her full pink lips started trembling. Her eyes filled with tears, and I looked away, because, fuck, I didn’t want to see her cry.
“Go to the first room on the right if you’re going to do that,” I said through clenched teeth.
I’d seen plenty of women cry in my life. I didn’t want to see it again.
She left without a word. I heard the door slam.
I finished scrubbing my shoes. Her dad’s blood came out mostly. They weren’t ruined, at least.
I stopped near a control panel for my alarm system next to the front door. I flipped it open, typed in my passcode, and armed it. Now if she left the apartment, the thing would start blaring.
I hurried into my bedroom and shut the door before it fully activated.
The space was gloomy and small, dominated by a big bed. I leaned up against the door and shut my eyes, squeezing them hard.
I couldn’t remember the last time I lived with a woman. Probably not since I was a teenager, stuck in my father’s house. There were always women around my father’s house, so many women, cycling in and out. Few stayed for very long, except for my mother. She lasted the longest, but even she went sooner or later.
Now I had Tara, my test and my gift.
Some fucking gift. She was gorgeous, I could admit to that, but I didn’t want her, and had no clue what the hell I’d do with her now.
That was a problem for tomorrow. I stripped off my clothes and got into bed. Downstairs, the sound of laughing people eating good enchiladas and drinking copious inexpensive Coronas drifted up through my floorboards, and lulled me to sleep.
2
Tara
I woke up in a psycho’s apartment and had no clue what I was going to do.
Early dawn sunlight streamed in through the blinds. The sound of people eating and the horrible smell of their food drifted around me most of the night. I’d barely been able to sleep. I kept feeling the hot slash of flames against my face, and felt the burning tug of ash in my throat as I tried to scream my father’s name. It was too late though, his body already crumpled and dead.