Total pages in book: 145
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 138274 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 691(@200wpm)___ 553(@250wpm)___ 461(@300wpm)
He surged forward and pinned the pillow to the floor on either side of her head, right by her ears. The soft one proved to be a good choice. The seal was easy and immediate.
As she struggled, he got too busy tracking her movements against the binds to keep with his crying thing. He was worried that they were making too much noise. The apartments in the building were occupied with people who could call the police to investigate strange thumping sounds.
It felt like a year and a half before the woman finally fell still, and the concentration and effort required to kill her right reminded him of having sex, what with the way he had to work at it and pay attention to what was happening with his partner.
He stayed in place for a full five minutes afterward.
Then Evan slowly lifted the pillow, and the way he peeked under it reminded him of his mother cooking, the way she would always lean to the side as she lifted the lids to pots or the dishtowels over rising dough or the seal on leftovers.
“There you go,” he said with an exhale.
The woman’s eyes were wide and pointed at the ceiling, her mouth open farther than the gag required, her face dry of tears, the pillow dotted with wet spots.
Just like sex.
As Evan fell back on his ass and set the pillow on his lap, he stared at the still woman and noted that he wasn’t crying anymore. And this was good. This was… what was expected of him.
Uncle and the others didn’t get upset when they killed people. He’d heard them talk about it.
Mickey had killed three people—well, two had been on account of that car accident when he’d been drunk driving. But he hadn’t cried over any of them.
And he wouldn’t have cried if he’d been able to get uphill of that enforcer, Nathaniel.
And that enforcer hadn’t cried over Mickey.
Putting his elbows on his knees, Evan became as still as the woman, his inner awareness settling down, becoming a reflecting pool instead of a rushing river.
Calm. Focused.
“I am changing…” he whispered, no longer as horrified at what was in his veins.
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
At midnight the following evening, Nalla stepped out of Luchas House, closed the front door, and went down the porch steps. On the walkway, she leaned back and checked out the dense cloud cover. A storm was brewing, weather-wise.
When it came to her life, the blizzard had already hit.
She hadn’t slept all day. Had just lain upstairs in that messy bed, the shutters down to keep out the sunlight, her brain playing solo tennis against the backboard of her regrets, alternating between the fight she’d had with her mahmen downstairs and the argument she’d had with her sire in that alley the night before.
And, there had been one other thing on her mind.
From time to time, she’d rolled over to the side of the mattress and stared down at the pillow that was still on the floor right by the bed. She’d refused to pick it up. What had happened between her and Nate had been mind-bendingly vivid when they’d been together. But in a weird distortion, the very fact it had been so good made her question whether she’d blown the hookup out of proportion.
So the pillow they’d knocked off was staying where it was.
Proof she hadn’t made anything up.
Closing her eyes, it was a while before she could calm herself enough to dematerialize, and when she was finally able to spirit away in a scatter of molecules, she knew she had to get her head right before she got to the tattoo parlor.
After all, the problems with her parents would be waiting for her following this… date? Was that what this was? At any rate, she didn’t want to waste what time she had with Nate.
Re-forming on the roof of a restaurant that was closed for the evening, she walked over to the lip and looked down.
Needle was across the street, and with its darkened windows and sign, she wasn’t sure whether the artist had come to re-open things yet. She hadn’t heard from Nate, but she hadn’t expected to—okay, fine. Maybe she’d thought he might get a message to her at Luchas House somehow.
He didn’t know she had a working phone again. Or her number. But he sure knew where she was—
“Shut up,” she said into the cold air.
It was beyond time to pull herself together. After the day she’d spent with her racing mind, she was so over going around in circles in her head about whether Nate was still coming, if they were still on, if he still wanted to hook up with her. The good news? At this point, only she was aware of the OCD Olympic track her thoughts were running relays on, and she was damn well going to keep it that way.