Total pages in book: 86
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78732 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 394(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Her phone chimes, and, after reading the message on the screen, she looks at me for the first time since I came into the room.
"My Uber is here," she says, and I swear there's a sadness in her tone, but then again, there's a very real chance my head is just filling in the blanks where I want it to so this either hurts less or it's trying to convince me that she wants me to beg her to stay.
But I already did that, didn't I? And look where it's left us. We couldn't even make it to lunch before she was ready to bolt out the fucking door.
I step into her, hating the way she draws in a sharp breath as if she's nervous about what happens next. Instead of invading her space, completely, I bend and press my lips to her forehead.
"Be safe," I tell her. "I'm here if you ever need anything."
"Sure," she says. She walks away, leaving me stuck in place, wondering how she managed to pull my heart from my chest and pack it away into her bag without me realizing it until it was too late to get the damned thing back.
Chapter 32
Kaylee
I've been back at my house for over an hour, and my pulse is still racing. The last time I was here was only for a short time, and I was forced out of the backdoor because of the goon who was banging on the front door.
The fear that it'll happen again doesn't fade, despite knowing that the men who were terrorizing me and threatened the safety of my friend are behind bars.
The entire experience has opened my eyes to the danger that has always been lurking around me. It leaves me wondering if I always would've been blind to it if I hadn't made the decision to knock on that warehouse door.
The women have been rescued, but can I really consider it a rescue if they're just being held against their will by what most would consider a lawful entity? They're still prisoners, and, to me, that doesn't make things better.
Did I ruin their lives because I wanted to find out what happened to Alena? Are those women going to be even more miserable because of my actions? It doesn't matter if someone has the best of intentions. The fallout is what is measured, and knowing they're all being held and threatened with possible deportation doesn't make me feel like I did the right thing at all.
Misery leaks from my pores at an accelerated rate because the air conditioning unit in the small house is old and fighting the heat that has been trapped inside for the days that I've been gone.
I don't feel comfortable here, and not just on a physical level because of the thickness of the air.
I feel out of place, as if I don't belong. I bet if I sat and spent a little time reflecting on all the times I've been here, I'll realize that I wasn't exactly comfortable here before I met Ellis either.
What I hate the most is knowing how I felt with him versus how I feel now. Living with knowing how things were is going to be so much worse than having existed in a world where we had never met.
The saying that it's better to have loved and lost rather than never loved at all is a massive crock of shit.
But I don't know that I'd give up my memories of him if someone had the power to ease the ache inside of me.
What I do know is that I can't stay here, and I know, as I pick up my phone and search my very limited contacts for Morgan's name, that here may actually be Las Vegas or even Nevada as a whole.
The thought of going back and begging him to keep me just a little while longer is making my skin crawl with an urgency that I know will lead me right back to the gate of the Cerberus property. How freaking sad and shameful is that?
I could never live down the embarrassment. That's why I'll probably have to eventually pack my shit and leave town, put a little distance between Ellis and me so it'll be a lot harder to crawl to him with pleading on my lips.
"How do you always call right when I need you the most?" Morgan asks when the call connects.
"It's a gift," I say with as much enthusiasm as I can gather, which isn't much.
"What's wrong?"
"Nothing," I assure her, because talking about it with Morgan wouldn't lead to the outcome I need the most.
She'll try and convince me to go to him, assuring me that he feels exactly the same but men just have to be led by the nose sometimes, or she'll suggest fire-bombing his house. The tide could go either way, and there's no telling which direction she'd take.