Total pages in book: 114
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 114775 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 574(@200wpm)___ 459(@250wpm)___ 383(@300wpm)
Oh God. Oh God. Oh God.
Fingers on the edge of the desk, I sidle around it, staring down at the weapons, like they’re going to come alive and attack me.
Once I’m around the desk, I turn to the last wall. I see pictures of Haley.
I focus in on one of the pictures. It’s of Haley and Kas. He looks so much younger.
He looks happy.
Pain ruptures in my chest.
I step back, taking in the photos of Haley along with the news cuttings about her murder.
I don’t understand what all of this is. What it means.
Why does he have pictures of me and of Jason in here with pictures of Haley?
Standing in the center of the room, I turn slowly, trying to take it all in, piece it all together, and my eyes catch on a photo. I didn’t spot it before because my eyes were pinned on the weapons on the table.
But, now, I’m looking, and I’m looking hard.
Because there’s a picture of Damien Doyle.
And on either side of the picture of Damien are pictures of two men I don’t recognize.
I step closer to the photos, and my stomach empties.
The photos of the men I don’t recognize have a big red X marked over their faces.
Damien’s is the only photo that doesn’t have an X.
Why would—
Oh God.
Oh, holy fuck no.
Just like a blow to the head, it hits me.
A sick, hollow feeling starts to form in my gut.
Three men.
Haley. Kas.
Rape. Murder.
Red crosses mean…are they…dead?
Oh, fuck.
Damien’s alive.
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
God. No.
I turn, more than ready to leave this room, and my heart practically falls out of my chest.
Kas is standing in the doorway.
His chest is bare, and he’s wearing the black pajama bottoms he went to bed in.
“Is there any room I can keep you out of?” He doesn’t smile.
And I nearly piss my pants.
His eyes run over the room, and he sighs. He folds his arms over his chest and leans his shoulder against the doorjamb.
His impenetrable eyes meet with mine. Then, he parts his lips and says calmly, “So, I guess you have questions.”
Thirty-Seven
Questions?
Do I have questions?
Of course I have fucking questions!
But, right now, I’m trying not to piss my pants, and I need to restart my heart to normal function because it’s decided to stop working properly.
I part my lips. My mouth is dry, like I’ve been out in the desert for days.
I…I don’t even know where to start.
Kas is staring at me with those beautiful, impenetrable dark eyes of his, giving me nothing.
But he doesn’t need to give me anything because I’m pretty sure I’ve figured it all out by myself.
Damien Doyle was part of the gang that…
And Kas has been…
Jesus, I can’t even say the words.
I lick my lips, trying to give aid to speech. “I…” I wrap my arms over my stomach, my eyes flickering around the room.
He has pictures of me from before we even knew each other.
Or maybe Kas knew me a long time before I knew him.
Oh, fuck.
“I…you…” I stammer. “Wh-why do you have photos of me? An-and Damien Doyle?”
“I think you know why.”
“Oh God,” I whisper, trembling.
He sighs again. “I didn’t ever want you to find out, Daisy.”
No fucking kidding! I wish to God I hadn’t found out.
Me and my snooping fucking nose.
“Y-you…th-the pictures of those men.”
“Evan Foster, Levi Betts, and of course, you know Damien Doyle.”
“Ar-are they…” I lift a shaking, helpless hand to his scarred torso. His eyes squeeze shut. “Are they the men who did that to you and Haley?”
He breathes deeply through his nose. His eyes open. “Yes.”
“Jesus Christ,” I whisper. “An-and what do the crosses on Evan’s and Levi’s faces mean?”
“It means they’re dead, Daisy.”
Holy fuck.
I want to cry. And run. Far, far away.
I swallow past the bricks lodged in my throat. “Ho-how did they die?”
He adjusts his stance, lifting his hands to the doorframe above his head. His big body fills the doorway. His muscles are stretched out, showing the definition and strength of him.
I’m trapped in here, and if he wants to hurt me, he can.
The only things I have to my advantage are the selection of knives behind me and the gun, but I don’t know if it’s loaded.
And…I can’t believe I’m considering having to defend myself with a weapon against the man I’ve been sleeping with.
Just when I thought my life couldn’t get any worse, I open a door and find Dexter’s secret lair.
Kas lets out another sigh. This one sounds tired.
“Evan Foster slit his own throat. He bled to death in his bathtub. And Levi Betts was stabbed to death in an alleyway. Drug deal gone wrong apparently.” His steady black eyes stay carefully on mine.
Swallowing nervously, I glance back at the knives on the table.
Did one of those knives…
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
My pulse is pounding in my ears, my skin prickling with nerves and, most of all, disbelief. I can’t believe we’re having this conversation.