Total pages in book: 120
Estimated words: 109096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 109096 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 545(@200wpm)___ 436(@250wpm)___ 364(@300wpm)
Just then, I see Raphael's driver pulling up to his building. I slip into the shadows, Dove's phone in my pocket, and watch the guy go inside while clutching his still bleeding nose. I got him good there.
I'm pleased to see he returned to his apartment alone. That means Dove will be home now, too. I'll drop by before I head to the motel, make sure she's okay.
Just as I'm about to leave, I notice a familiar ride pull into the parking lot before the building. My eyes narrow as the bubblegum pink car comes to a screeching halt. Two long legs emerge. The girl flicks her long blonde locks, clutching another designer purse holding her insufferable pest of a dog.
Interesting. What the fuck is Elise Howard doing here?
I watch her ring one of the doorbells and argue with someone over it. The doors don't open, and she paces the pavement in front of the building until a man emerges. It's Raphael.
I smirk at the sight. So there's another connection here. One that excites me, because it means I can fuck things up for the photographer even more. I watch from the shadows as Elise and Raphael argue, the dog yapping into the night. Looks like a lovers' spat to me. And my suspicions are only confirmed when Elise throws herself at the guy, kissing him with desperation.
Raphael has enough common sense to push her off, rubbing his temples. She starts begging then, the little drama queen, even adding some tears for show.
Finally, the guy seems to cave. He unlocks the door and they both head inside the building. Laughing out loud, I get back on my bike. I did the right thing by coming here tonight. I fucking knew that smug piece of shit was hiding something.
Twenty minutes later, I'm back in front of Dove's house. The lights are off everywhere except her bedroom, and I already know she'll be up for hours still. Little bird doesn't sleep much.
I think about my next move. I wonder whether that guy Sam is still around. Leaving my bike parked a couple streets over, I walk to the alleyway, and sure enough, there's Dove's little buddy. Except he looks much worse for wear today, what with the fucking needle sticking out of his arm.
"Sam," I mutter, kneeling next to him. "Hey, Sam."
He doesn't respond. I pull the needle out of his arm and toss it aside. I shake him then, and with a groan, he finally wakes up. It takes him several moments to come to, and the first thing he does is reach for the needle I already removed before meeting my eyes guiltily.
"Nasty little habit you got there," I smirk. "Dove know about it?"
"She's trying to get me to quit." His eyes are hungry as they meet mine. "Do you have any stuff?"
"No," I reply firmly. "I don't mess with that shit, man. And you shouldn't, either."
Since I've spent several years on the streets, I know firsthand how dangerous these addictions can be. I've seen them kill too many people to count. I don't want Sam to be one of them.
The thought is surprising, the fact that I somewhat care about the old bastard. I don't care about anyone but Dove. Well, at least I didn't until now.
"Don't tell me what to do," Sam mutters in response.
Oh boy. "I'm not," I hiss. "Just trying to fucking help. I don't want Dove all depressed when she finds you kicked the bucket someday."
"I'll be fine," he waves his hand dismissively. He groans, picking himself up. Whatever high he was on is gone now, and he groans, running his fingers through his messy hair. "You got something to eat?"
"Sorry," I mutter. "I'll bring you something next time. But here." I fish a twenty out of my pocket and offer it to him. He hesitates, but then pockets the cash anyway. "Get some food. Not anything else."
"Yeah," he mutters. A part of me already regrets giving him the money. Something tells me he won't take my advice.
"Dove got home okay?" I ask, and he nods, giving me a curious look.
"Where were you?"
"Keeping an eye on someone else," I mutter. "Did her date drive her home?"
"No, she came in a cab. I saw it pull up earlier."
"Good." I can tell he's itching to get away, probably spend the money I gave him on something he shouldn't buy. "You kept your promise, right? You didn't tell her about me?"
"Haven't spoken to Dove today, but your secret's safe with me."
"It better stay that way," I say.
"What?"
"I said it better fucking stay that way."
His brows shoot up. "Are you threatening me?"
"No," I say. Not fucking yet, at least. "I'll see you soon, Sam. You take care of yourself."
"I will," he mutters, already distracted. "See you, Nox."
Still, there's some kind of silent companionship in the air, and I appreciate that. It's nice to have a friend.