Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 140940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 705(@200wpm)___ 564(@250wpm)___ 470(@300wpm)
Once the car hit the highway, it sped up even more, cutting through the thick air of the swamps.
Still, every second, every passing of a mile marker, felt agonizingly slow.
I bounced my leg some more, trying to calm myself.
I was used to being in control, to being the one who called the shots. But in this moment, hurtling through the darkness, making my way back to Emily, I remained helplessly adrift, caught in a current of fear and uncertainty.
I gazed out the window, watching the landscape change more and more as we ventured deeper into the bayou.
The trees became increasingly gnarled and tangled. Their branches reached out like skeletal fingers. The murky waters of the bayou churned below, reflecting the ghostly glow of the moon.
Mysh. . .
My thoughts went to my mouse down in that basement.
What are they doing to you?
I couldn’t shake the image of Emily—alone and vulnerable—in the grips of some horrific ritual. My imagination painted vivid scenes of her lying there in some shitty, dimly lit basement, surrounded by the drummers and chanting—strangers.
My mind conjured up the rhythmic beat of drums, the flicker of candlelight casting strange shapes over her face.
Fucking Maxwell.
It all sent terror through me.
But, maybe. . .she is okay.
I tried to envision her enveloped in a cocoon of safety, but the darker thoughts kept creeping in. The concept of voodoo was foreign to me, and that was enough to terrorize my heart.
Would this strange, mysterious ceremony heal her fractured mind?
What if this ritual did more harm than good?
What if it altered her in ways we couldn’t have predicted or controlled?
The thought of losing the Emily I knew, the woman I loved in all her complex, multifaceted beauty, was unbearable.
And then, I pictured her delicate form, convulsing under the strain of the ritual, or worse, lying too still, too quiet like she was. . .dead.
I gritted my teeth.
The uncertainty was maddening.
What if this was a bad idea?
Could voodoo really mend the shattered parts of her psyche?
Or would it deepen the divide and leave her lost in a maze of her own identities?
Each possibility that flashed through my mind was more horrifying than the last.
I tried to cling to hope.
Tisha sighed.
I turned to him. “What?”
“You look scared.”
I pursed my lips and turned back to the window.
“It’s never good when the Lion is scared.”
“No?”
“Many people end up dying.” Tisha sighed again. “What can I do, cousin? Who can I kill for you?”
I shifted in my seat and kept my view on the moonlit swamp. The murky waters rippled, telling me that alligators or something else swam just below the surface.
“There’s no one to kill just yet, Tisha.”
“Then, what can I do to calm you?”
“Nothing.” I steadied my voice. “Love is like a gun.”
“A gun?”
“It’s powerful.” I turned my head and met his gaze. “Yet, it can lead to different outcomes depending on how you handle it.”
“I’ve never been in love, but that’s a dark way to look at it.” Tisha raised an eyebrow. “Don’t you think?”
“Not dark. Realistic.” I put my view back on the swamp. “What is a gun? It’s a form of protection. It’s. . .a sense of security. It empowers me and makes me strong in ways. . .I didn’t know I could be.”
Lunita’s violently smiling face flashed in my head.
I stiffened. “It is a realm where heartbeats align like gunmetal.”
A dark chuckle left Tisha. “You have become a poet, Kazimir.”
“But, I am not wrong.” I turned back to him. “You ask me what you can do to keep me calm? And my only answer is to get me to my mouse. Fast. So that I can make sure that she’s safe.”
I ran my fingers through my hair. The strands were damp from the quick shower.
Mysh. . .
I put my view back on the moon. “Love is a fucking unyielding firearm. It lies in wait. Its bullets. . .not lead, but raw fucking emotions.”
I lifted my right hand towards the moon and began to form it into the shape of a gun.
Delphine, you better keep my mouse safe.
I extended my thumb upwards, creating the hammer of the gun. My index finger pointed straight out, mimicking the barrel. I folded down the remaining fingers—my middle, ring, and little finger. They touched my palm, creating the grip of my imaginary gun.
There, I targeted the moon. “And if you have the right woman, Tisha, those emotional bullets will pierce through the air with every pull of the trigger.”
“You’re making me not want to fall in love at all.”
I gave him a sad smile. “You think you are protected from falling in love?”
“Perhaps, I should see if there are bulletproof vests for those emotional bullets you’re talking about.”
“Perhaps, because it’s impossible to dodge them.” I shook my head. “You think I went to New York long ago to fall in love?”