Total pages in book: 96
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90618 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 453(@200wpm)___ 362(@250wpm)___ 302(@300wpm)
Which made me so much angrier. I didn’t get why he would make an exception for me. I didn’t get why he’d bring me here, tell me I can leave, but also tell me I shouldn’t.
Like I’m supposed to choose to stay with my father’s killer.
“I’ll take my chances,” I said and turned away.
I walked to the door. I heard him follow, which made me walk faster. I almost made it, almost touched the doorknob, before he caught up with me and grabbed my wrist. I let out a little gasp as he pulled me from the door. I stumbled and ran up against his body, his warm body, slightly damp with sweat. His eyes were hard as he stared down at me, and he held my wrist with a surprising strength.
“You’re hurting me,” I whispered.
He didn’t loosen his grip. “If you leave, you’re going to die,” he said. “I understand that you hate me. I’d hate me too, if our positions were reversed. But don’t throw your life away out of pride. Stay here in this house until things blow over, then I’ll let you loose.”
“Tell me why you’re doing this and I’ll consider it.” I stared into his eyes. “And don’t lie to me.”
He looked right back. “I feel sorry for you,” he said, his voice soft. “And I want to fuck you. Is that what you want to hear? I want to taste your soft, wet little cunt. I want to feel your legs wrapped around my waist.” He reached up with his other hand and pressed his palm against my cheek, sliding his hand back, sending a chill down my spine, until his fingers tangled in my hair. “I want to hear you whisper my name and beg for more as I fuck you rough and deep. Is that what you wanted?”
I bit my lip, my heart racing. I stared at him for a long moment, unable to move, unable to look away.
But a moment later, he released me. He slid his hand from my hair, dropped my wrist, and stepped back. His eyes were hard as he gestured at the door.
“Go ahead and leave,” he said. “You know what I want from you now. Go ahead and walk out that door, go back to your apartment. Just remember that I warned you about this shit. I tried to help you.”
He turned and walked back into the kitchen, leaving me alone in the hallway again.
I stayed still, heart racing. I didn’t trust myself to move yet. I touched my cheek where his palm pressed against my skin, and I thought I could still feet his skin ghosting against mine. I tilted my head and bit my lip, staring down the hallway, wondering what it would be like if I really did give myself to my father’s killer, if I really did let that man have me.
I know I’d never walk away from it the same again.
I turned to the door and touched the knob. I wanted to leave so badly, but his words rang in my ears, and the image of my father’s body wrapped in plastic came back to me all over again. I shut my eyes and tried to force it away, but I couldn’t.
This wasn’t a game. That man wasn’t playing around. If he said things were dangerous for me in the city, then things were dangerous. If he was offering me protection, I had to take it.
I dropped the doorknob. I turned from the door and stepped to the base of the stairs. I wanted to retch, wanted to throw up, wanted to curl up into a ball and cry my eyes out until there was nothing left inside of me.
I caught a glimpse of him in the kitchen, watching as I climbed the stairs and headed back to the room I’d slept in the night before. I went inside, shut the door behind me, locked it, and crawled into bed. I pulled the covers over my head and closed my eyes and willed the world to go back to the way it was before I let my father talk me into the biggest mistake I’d ever made.
3
Dante
The Southside Bakery was empty the next morning just after the crack of dawn. I could see Sergio in the back room finishing up the morning’s bread as I went behind the counter and made myself an espresso. When it was finished, I stood there for a moment and took a long sip of the rich, strong black coffee.
My eyes scanned the room. The wooden tables and counters were empty, and would stay empty for another hour until the place opened at five thirty. Pastries were arranged under the glass display case, placed there by Sergio a little bit before I arrived. The smell of baked goods wafted from the back room and I took a deep breath for a moment, letting the smell draw me back into my childhood, back into my mother’s kitchen.