Total pages in book: 79
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77824 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 389(@200wpm)___ 311(@250wpm)___ 259(@300wpm)
When my feet touch the tiles, I glance around and find myself in the dining room.
With my eyes already used to the dark, I move to the doorway and search the wide open space of the foyer for movement before I creep toward the left, where I find the kitchen.
Glancing around, I decide to stick the tiny camera near the vent, figuring it’s not something they’ll look at often.
Not making a fucking sound, I use one of the stools by the island to climb onto so I can reach the vent, and when I’m done, I quickly move the stool back into place before sneaking out of the kitchen.
One down. Three to go.
I find the living room and hide a camera by the TV stand, and heading upstairs, I’m on high alert.
Not sure which bedroom belongs to Skylar, I carefully check through the rooms until I find hers.
I only spare the sleeping woman a glance before I quickly find a spot by her dressing table to plant the camera. When I turn around, my eyes land on the bed where Skylar’s kicked off her covers. Slowly, I move closer and stare at her right side, where the T-shirt has ridden up.
Seeing the bandage, a growl almost escapes me, and I have to fight the urge to rip the fucking bandage off and dig Giulio’s kidney from her body with my bare hands.
“Your time will come, and I’ll show you the same mercy Giulio received when they fucking butchered him,” I whisper, a world of vengeance coating my voice.
The woman stirs and mumbles sleepily, “Huh?”
Creeping out of her bedroom, I head back to the staircase, where I hide the last of the cameras before getting my ass out of the mansion.
When I make it back to the Bentley without being caught, I find Vincenzo chewing on his thumb nail.
When he sees me, he complains, “My heart can’t handle this shit. Next time, I’ll go in.”
“Let’s get out of here,” I order while climbing into the vehicle.
As we drive away from the mansion, the corner of my mouth lifts.
Now I can watch every little movement my prey makes.
Chapter 9
Skylar
The stitches were removed a few days ago, and Dr. Bentall says my body is adjusting to the transplant at a satisfactory rate.
Honestly, I feel as good as new, and with every passing day, I’m becoming stronger. I’m even gaining weight again.
While I fill little pockets of dough with shredded beef so I can make steamed dumplings, Louisa places a cup of tea on the counter.
“You’re spending too much time in the kitchen,” she chastises me. “You promised to take it slow.”
“If I take it any slower, I’ll be in bed twenty-four-seven,” I mumble. I shoot her a grin. “It feels like I’ve been released from a prison sentence. Let me enjoy life.”
“I just don’t want anything going wrong.”
Giving her a reassuring smile, I say, “Nothing will go wrong. I feel healthy, and as soon as I get tired, I’ll take a nap.”
She lets out a sigh before walking out of the kitchen, and I take a quick sip of the tea then continue making another dumpling.
Suddenly, the tiny hairs on the back of my neck prickle with a weird sensation as if I’m being watched. Even though I know I’m alone in the kitchen, I still glance around me.
I’ve been getting the feeling more and more.
It’s your imagination.
But…
My hands still as I think about the dream I had last week. I didn’t see the man, but I could feel him in my bedroom, watching me. He said something I can’t remember.
It feels like it was the same man I dreamed about the day I got the transplant.
I mentioned the dreams to Dr. Bentall, who said some patients might have disturbing dreams and poor sleep. It isn’t unusual.
Taking a deep breath, I continue to prepare the dumplings, and while they’re steaming, I make sesame noodles.
I find Asian cuisine fascinating and would love to specialize in it. With a bit of luck, I’ll become a head chef at a Michelin Star restaurant where I can create my own signature Asian-inspired dishes.
I let out a frustrated sigh, wishing I could return to work already. I want to get my life back to how things were before the car accident.
My thoughts turn to Mom, and there’s a pang of sadness in my chest.
I miss her.
I hardly had time to mourn her death when I was forced to face my own impending demise. Three years have passed, and I’ve only been to her grave twice.
I should get some flowers and visit her grave.
Dad comes into the kitchen and grabs a bottle of water from the fridge. “When are we eating?”
“In ten minutes.” I glance at him, then say, “I’d like to visit Mom’s grave tomorrow. Can you squeeze it into your busy schedule?”