Total pages in book: 155
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 147891 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 739(@200wpm)___ 592(@250wpm)___ 493(@300wpm)
His bottom lip quivers. So pathetic. Perhaps I shouldn’t have taken the tape off. He’s just pissing me off at this point. It’ll be hard not to kill him.
I put the gun back in my waistband. “Right. Let’s get this over with, shall we? Where’s your nearest hospital?”
“W-what?”
“Never mind. I’m sure I can find it.” I grip the handle of the knife and bring the tip of the blade to his left eyelid.
“Please,” he whimpers.
“See, where I come from, we don’t tolerate men putting their hands on women. In fact, if I hear about it, I kill the bloody bastards who do it.”
I drag the blade of the knife across his eyelid, and he rocks in the chair with a loud cry. It takes everything in me not to jam the damn thing into his eye socket. Instead, I take the knife away and grip him by the shoulder, coming face to face with him.
“Oi. Look at me.” Tears leak down his face, mixing with blood from the fresh cut. When he doesn’t look at me, I slap him once, twice, demanding his attention. “LOOK. AT. ME.”
He opens his right eye, and when he does, I take the knife and stab it into the meaty flesh of his thigh. His wail pierces the room, and fortunately for me, the club music drowns it out.
“Repeat these words,” I command.
“Please…stop,” he cries. “Please. I’m sorry, man!”
I press down on the knife, and he sucks his bottom lip into his mouth, holding back another set of tears.
“I will never…”
Garrett drops his head. “I…will…never…” he repeats.
“Put my hands…”
“Put…my h-hands.”
“On another woman again.”
“On a-another woman…again.”
“Especially not Willow Austin.”
“E-especially not…Willow.”
“WILLOW AUSTIN!” I shout in his face. “Say her name!”
He flinches. “Especially not Willow Austin!”
“Good on you.” I rise, turning for the counter and picking up a bigger knife. It glints in the dim light above as I weigh it in my hands. Not Vakeeli steel, but good enough. “Now be still. This won’t take long.”
Chapter 25
WILLOW
I sit on Faye’s couch, a cup of hot cinnamon apple tea in my hands and my mind running through a million thoughts. She lives with her grandmother, her Abuelita Mariana, the person who has made the tea and has given me a dozen hugs since I walked through her front door.
Abuelita Mariana hasn’t seen me in months (she made it clear she wasn’t happy about that as she spouted off in her native tongue), but I’d forgotten how much I loved coming here. Have you ever been to a place that you wished was home? A place that’s cozy, comfortable, and free of judgement? That’s what it’s like at Faye’s. Her abuelita is so hospitable and is always making sure I’m fed, hydrated, and happy.
In the short hour I’ve been here, she’s made me a turkey, avocado, and provolone quesadilla, provided a grapefruit Jarritos, and then made some tea to ease my stress. Apparently, she can feel my anxiousness, but even so, she hasn’t said a word about it—at least not directly to me. And it’s not like she can ask me personally—she doesn’t speak much English, and what she does ask of me, she directs to Faye, who translates for both of us. Still, there’s something about Abuelita Mariana. I’ve known her since I was a child, and we’ve always understood each other without saying a single word.
When it’s nearing nine p.m., Abuelita Mariana murmurs something to Faye as she slowly pushes out of her recliner.
“Buenas noches, Willow.” Mariana plants a kiss on my forehead. She smells like roses. I smile and wish her good night as Faye assists her. Several minutes later, Faye returns to the living room.
“Still nothing?” she asks, plopping down on the sofa beside me.
“Nope.”
She huffs. “You know, when you said he was violent, I thought you were being dramatic.”
“Why would you think that?” I laugh.
“I don’t know. You tend to overreact sometimes.”
I place a hand on my chest. “I tend to overreact? This coming from the woman who cried because she couldn’t get a ticket to the Taylor Swift concert in time?”
“Hey—that was going to be an amazing concert, bitch!” She fights a smile, slouching back. “Anyway, do you think we should go find that crazy guy of yours? He can’t be far, right? He doesn’t know a damn thing about Charlotte."
“No.” I shake my head and sip my tea. “He’ll come back.”
“What if he kills Garrett, though?” she asks, eyes widening. “Would he really do that?”
“He promised me he wouldn’t.”
“Is he good at keeping promises?”
“Surprisingly…yes.”
“Hmm. Well, even if he doesn’t hold to that promise, you have an alibi. You’ve been here all night. And, technically, he’s like a John Doe. They’ll find prints, but his name won’t be in any of their systems. He doesn’t exist here.”
“Are you trying to justify him killing someone?”