Total pages in book: 54
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 50653 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 253(@200wpm)___ 203(@250wpm)___ 169(@300wpm)
Murder?
No, he must be mistaken. He’s wrong. “Hit and run or something?” My voice doesn’t sound like my own. It’s deeper, weaker, broken. Maybe she was drunk and wandered into the road. I should have gone looking for her last night when she failed to come home. But I waited. Dammit, I waited.
He said detectives.
“We’re expecting the coroner’s official report soon, but this wasn’t an accident, Ms. Stewart. It’s a homicide investigation,” the woman detective announces.
“Someone killed my baby.” Mom weeps from the kitchen chair, lighting a cigarette and blowing a plume of toxic smoke into the air. The florescent lights buzz above us, casting everything in a hue of blue.
“No.” I shake my head, clawing up the officer’s legs to get to my feet. He’s wrong. She’s wrong. Why would someone do this on purpose? Harley is nineteen, harmless, innocent. Not is—was.
A fresh wave of agony sweeps over me, dragging me into a murky abyss. “How do you know it’s her?” I demand. They’re mistaken. She’s going to walk through that door any minute, drunk with a story to tell. Mom will bitch her out about wearing her boots on the carpet and we’ll laugh. Everything is fine. Everything will be fine. Nothing is fine.
“How do you even know it’s her?” I repeat.
“Identification on her person, ma’am.” The uniformed officer announces, gaining him a glare from the detective.
“I want to see her,” I state, swiping at my tears. A fierceness comes over me. It’s not her.
“We need to make a formal identification.” Reed nods toward my mom.
“I’ll do it,” I cut him off as his mouth opens to add more.
He bobs his head between us, waiting for my mother’s approval. When she doesn’t object, he agrees. “If you’re sure.”
“I am.” I jerk my head firmly and wrap my arms around my waist, hoping they will hold me together.
Walking back through the house, it doesn’t seem as familiar as it should be. The faded wallpaper adorned with family pictures along the hallway makes my skin itch. There will never be a new one of Harley added to those walls if what they say is true. It’s not. It can’t be.
Passing the doors to our bedrooms my feet faulter at Harley’s threshold. The door is slightly ajar, and I can smell her scent all around me. I know inside is a repository of memories, happiness, her.
“Ma’am?”
“I’m coming.” I state turning away from her door.
The detectives lead the way to their car, and I slip into the backseat, ignoring the neighbors peering out at us from their windows.
Mrs. Greenwich has been bold enough to come out of her house. She’s standing on the front lawn with a coffee mug, her hair in rollers, and her nightgown on. Nosy witch.
I bash my hand against the window. “What are you looking at?”
They get to go to bed tonight, get to sleep. Everything in their lives continues like normal while mine crumbles around me. I don’t know who I am without Harley. The very thought of having to exist in a world without her churns the acid in my stomach.
The officer moves his patrol car allowing the detectives to back out of the drive, but he doesn’t follow us.
“Is it normal to have detectives and officers come to inform the family?” I ask trying to make sense of everything.
“The officer was there as a precaution.”
“Meaning?”
“We are aware of the families affiliations with the Devil skull riders motorcycle club.”
“And?”
“And it was just a precaution.”
“Whatever.” I spit.
Swiping at my phone, I bring up my messages and my soul sinks. Was she dying while I was angry texting her? Did she suffer? Did she cry out for me? Tears burn my eyes, tipping over my eyelashes, they track wet paths down my cheeks. Daddy’s death hurt, but this feels magnified, suffocating. Daddy knew the rules. You’re always walking with the reaper in your shadow when you live a life of crime. But this is Harley…
My phone buzzes in my hand, startling me.
Tyler: Babe, where are you?
The following message that comes through has a picture of his dick attached.
Need you to sit on this.
Internal rage burns through my sorrow. It’s irrational. He doesn’t know I’m dying inside. That Harley has been taken from us. This will hurt him. Harley was like his sister too.
Dammit, Harley, what happened to you?
A whimper escapes my lips, grief saturating the anger once more.
“Are you okay?” the female officer asks, her tone soft. There’s kindness in her eyes as she watches me in the rearview mirror.
“My baby sister was murdered.” The clock on her dash glares at me. It will be tomorrow in a couple of hours. “My wedding day is tomorrow. Would you be okay?” It’s bratty of me, but I don’t care.
“You’re getting married tomorrow?” A sound passes her lips. Almost a gasp. Pity.