Total pages in book: 135
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 123672 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 618(@200wpm)___ 495(@250wpm)___ 412(@300wpm)
Jim shakes his head, and the devastation clouding his gaze makes it hard to breathe. “I’m sorry, Ky,” he says as I desperately try to wrap my head around what he’s saying. “Crew’s gone. Whoever broke in trashed the place and then killed Crew. He bled out trying to save our shop.”
I start to heave, unable to draw in a full breath. “No,” I say, shaking my head. “No. I just talked to him yesterday. He can’t be gone.”
Panic begins pulsing through my veins, infecting me like poison and weighing me down until I find myself on my knees, gasping for air. My throat starts to close up, and my mouth goes dry as I realize my face is soaking wet. Am I crying? I don’t know. I’m too numb to figure it out.
How could he just be gone?
I know things were rocky between us, and I was determined to make him suffer for the hell he put me through over the last few days, but I could never have wished for this. Shit, maybe I did. I told him he was dead to me, and now . . . fuck. What were my very last words to him?
“You don’t fucking love me, Crew. You want to own me. I’m nothing but a fucking possession to you, and letting you touch me, letting you fuck me . . . I’ve never regretted anything more. So hear me now, Crew—we’re done. You’ll never fucking touch me again.”
Shit. He was drunk and reckless, probably wallowing in self-loathing after almost breaking my jaw, and then suddenly he was dying. He was all alone, thinking I hated him, thinking I wanted him dead.
Fuck. How can I ever forgive myself? He died thinking the worst, and now he will never have the chance to make it up to me.
Bits and pieces of our fight from yesterday come swarming back. I was horrible to him, but he was worse. How could that be the last conversation we ever had? After all of the good times we spent together, after the mind-blowing night we shared, how can it just be over?
For so long, Crew was my salvation. I couldn’t have made it through those shitty times without him forcing a smile across my face. And now this. Gone . . . just gone.
Feeling a strong hand wrap around my arm, I look up into Big Jim’s dark eyes. He pulls me up off the dirty ground and into the warmth of his arms, holding me to his chest. “It’s going to be okay, Ky,” he murmurs. “Whatever happened between you two, he knew you loved him in your own way.”
“We had a fight,” I say, barely able to get the words out over the lump in my throat.
“I know. He called me and told me what happened,” he says. “He didn’t know how to make it right, and honestly, I don’t know if it would have even been possible. Hell, I know I wasn’t about to make it easy for him. He was going to head out for a few weeks to give you some space, and . . . that’s the last I heard from him.”
I nod, not really sure what to say.
“We’re gonna get who did this, Ky,” he promises. “We won’t allow this to go unpunished.”
My heart breaks, agony gripping hold and refusing to release me, and before I know it, I’m being escorted aside by two cops, leading me in front of the shop window and asking a bunch of questions I don’t know how to answer. Only I can’t focus on what’s being asked as from here, I have the perfect view into the shop, my gaze lingering on the motionless body beneath the white sheet and the blood splatters across Big Jim’s station.
My stomach clenches, and I barely manage to hold on to my breakfast.
The tears continue streaming down my face, and as I look around the shop, I remember the security camera in each of the corners. “Can . . . Can you use the security feed to find out who did this?” I ask.
“Wish we could,” the cop closest to me says, pressing his lips into a hard line. “Seems your boss hasn’t paid the security company in over six months, and they cut off services. Those cameras are useless.”
“Shit.”
“My thoughts exactly,” he says.
Stepping away from the cop, I turn away from the window, not able to handle the sight in my peripheral vision, and as I wipe my watery eyes on the back of my arm, I notice a familiar face hidden out behind the crowd, looking toward High Voltage Ink as though he were watching some kind of movie. His big arms are crossed over his chest and his gaze is narrowed, clearly deep in thought.
Glancing back toward the cop, I hold his stare to keep from allowing my gaze to wander. “Are we done here?” I ask, the longer I wait, the more antsy I become, my hands balling into fists at my side.