Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73191 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
“Tell me how you killed him. I need to know before I eat. Otherwise, I’m afraid it will come back up,” I demand, shutting the door and crossing my arms over my chest.
“Do you really want the details?” I nod. “How long until your food shows up?”
I glance at my watch and back to him. “Twenty minutes.”
I know he doesn’t want to discuss it with me, but he walks into the room I turned into an office. His fingers run along the wood of my desk before he meets my gaze. “He had blood on his shirt, and I asked him how it got there.” He cracks his neck as he speaks.
“Okay,” I say, trying to keep my emotions in check.
“I slit his throat because he lied about it. About Letti. But first, I took off his hand.” I gasp in surprise. “I would do it again, and I would do worse. I want you to know that.”
“Do you have any remorse?”
He shrugs. “No. My first thought was that you would hate me.”
“Why didn’t you just tell me this?” No other words are spoken between us for a few moments, just silence hanging in the air.
His eyes trace every part of me. I’ve seen him do this before, right before he makes his move.
“You should leave,” I tell him.
I need space to process.
He’s clearly taken aback, his brows pinching, but he nods. “If that’s what you want.”
“I do,” I say it more for myself.
He steps away from my desk and toward the door, where I’m still standing.
“Find me when you’re ready. I’ll be waiting,” he states before he walks past me.
“What if I don’t want to find you?” I try to infuse the question with a little confidence.
“I hope you never fall in love in this town because I’ll probably kill him too,” he states categorically as if it is one hundred percent a fact.
I follow him outside and stand there as he gets on his bike. “Do you know how toxic that sounds? No woman wants that.” He smirks at me. “I don’t want that,” I yell, then shake my head at myself.
He tips his head to me in silent acknowledgment before turning and riding away. As he pulls out onto the street, I notice a car pulling up. A woman I don’t recognize steps out and begins to approach me.
“Hey, I’m Stephanie. I did your house. Well, my company did, but it’s good to put a face to the voice,” she says, extending her hand, and I shake it. “I just wanted to come over and introduce myself and possibly invite you out?”
“Out?” I ask, a bit surprised.
“Yes, my company is putting on a function for clients.” She smiles warmly.
As my food arrives, I step inside. “Come on in,” I say.
We start talking as I unpack the food. She’s young, and I get good vibes from her right away.
“So tell me about yourself,” I say.
Stephanie’s face lights up. “Well, I have a son who is almost four and ready for school. I had him while I was in high school, so I didn’t get to go to college. But I love what I do. It’s been a journey.”
“That sounds challenging. But you’ve done an incredible job with my house,” I reply.
“Thanks! I really appreciate you saying that. I am so grateful for the opportunity you gave me. It’s been good for my business,” she says, her eyes shining with gratitude.
I nod, feeling a genuine connection with her. “I am glad to hear that. You deserve all the accolades.”
“I love what I do and always aim to make my clients happy.”
“I can tell, and that means a lot,” I reply, smiling.
As we continue talking, I realize how much I like her. She is not just good at her job. This woman really cares. And that’s hard to find in a person.
“So what will you wear?” Stephanie asks.
“No idea,” I answer, pushing the sofa over to the wall, not liking where it was placed. She sits down as I study it, unsure if I should move it again.
“He is also invited… the one on the bike?” My eyes find hers, and she gives me a smirk.
“How do you know about him?” I ask.
“Everyone knows Mr. Savage, and most women want him. But it seems he’s wanted the same woman for a long time, or so the rumor goes.” She plays with the ends of her hair as she talks, a clear indication she is treading lightly on the subject.
“Mr. Savage?” I haven’t heard anyone call him that.
“Yep. Mr. Savage,” she replies. “We were told we always had to respect him and be careful around him. He runs this town.” She hums. “Though he doesn’t really talk to many people.” Her eyes find mine. “Does he talk to you?”
Heat flashes in my cheeks as I remember him reading to me, but I don’t say anything.