Total pages in book: 78
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74577 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 373(@200wpm)___ 298(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Kingston took a step back, glancing at the system on the front door, shaking his head.
“It wasn’t on,” I told her. “The door was unlocked when I came in.”
“No,” she said, shaking her head. “No. I locked it. When the last dog was picked up. I locked it. I know I did. And I set the alarm. I saw it blinking.”
My mind flashed back on the conversation we’d had about her ex. I remember her saying that she’d learned his age from some STEM trophies he had around.
“Sweetheart, what does Joss do for a living?” I asked.
Her gaze was blank for a second.
Then it hit her.
“He’s an information security analyst,” she said.
He’d somehow fucked with the security system to get in.
That made me wonder if he’d been watching her, been working on the system for a while.
“What move do you want to make here?” Kingston asked, making AJ frown at him, then me.
“I don’t understand.”
“He means he wants to know if you want us to call the police or not,” I said, knowing I had to follow her lead, even if I knew what I wanted.
I wanted that fucker to run, to think he got away with this. Then I wanted to track him down and make him feel powerless for a change.
I wasn’t violent by nature. Sure, I’d done things that scared other people, but I didn’t hurt them. I tried hard not to hurt anyone, actually.
But Joss?
Joss, I wanted to skin alive, slowly, inch by inch, then carve the still-beating heart right out of his chest.
“I have to, don’t I?” she asked, brows scrunched.
“You don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do, honey,” Kingston said, coming closer, then squatting down at her level. “If you don’t want the cops involved, we clean this up. That’s your choice.”
“You can… do that?”
“Since the alarm didn’t go off? Yeah. But I have to ask, did you hit your head?”
“My head? Why?”
“Because if you hit your head, you might want to get checked for a concussion. In which case, the hospital staff are mandatory reporters, and would tell the cops. So, we don’t want to start to cover this up if that is the case.”
“No. I.. he hit me. Here and here,” she said, touching her face. It’s been much worse than this,” she admitted, gaze sliding away, like she had any fucking thing to be embarrassed about. “I’m okay. It’s my wrist. I think it’s broken.”
King’s gaze slid over her face, then down to her hand.
“I think you could swing a trip and fall. Maybe off of a step,” he said, thinking it through. “Tried to break it with your hands, but your wrist cracked, and you fell on your face.”
He glanced around, getting nods from all of us, thinking that would work.
“So, it’s up to you,” Kingston said.
“I… I don’t want to have to talk to the police,” she admitted, voice sounding small and sad.
“Then you don’t have to,” Kingston said. “How about you take her somewhere to… wash her hands and decompress?” King said, glancing at her hand where she must have gotten some of Joss’s blood on her. “We will take care of the rest.”
With that, I helped AJ off of the floor as Nixon moved in to take Samson’s leash.
“I just need to bathe him,” Nixon explained when AJ hesitated.
“Oh, okay,” she said, releasing the leash, then waving toward the room behind her.
I took AJ into the kitchen, washing her hands for her, making sure all the blood was off, then bringing her over to the table, and pressing her into a chair.
“How’re you holding up?” I asked.
“What about the cameras?” she asked, glancing up at me.
“What cameras?”
“The ones all around,” she said, waving toward the main area of the building.
“Kingston has that covered, I’m sure. This is the kind of shit he does,” I reminded her.
“Right,” she agreed. “Okay.”
She was shutting down a little. Normally, I would let her have that, knowing she would come back to me. But if I was going to shuffle her to the emergency room in the near future, I needed her not to seem traumatized.
The doctors and nurses at the hospital were seasoned professionals, they would be suspicious if she seemed shut down or in shock.
“You texted me,” I said, watching her vision clear, seeing her pull back out of her own swirling thoughts.
“Yeah.”
“You could’ve texted the police. You didn’t. You texted me.”
“I knew you’d come,” she said. “And that you’d know what was going on without me having to spell it out. Though, I also wasn’t sure the police could trace a burner,” she added, lips trying to turn up until the cut made her wince.
“They would have come,” I told her. “Just for future reference. And you can text them an address. You don’t have to call anymore if the situation is dangerous. But I’m glad you called me. Can I get you some a acetaminophen for your wrist?” I asked.