Total pages in book: 84
Estimated words: 78695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 78695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 393(@200wpm)___ 315(@250wpm)___ 262(@300wpm)
"Some of them. When they're done with the floor. The ones who stay will move outside so they can piss off the neighbors by smoking and bullshitting all night. If you hold off until then, I can get you upstairs. Use the bathroom. Get you something to eat and drink."
My bladder was screaming.
I was going to get a raging UTI at this rate.
But what choice did I have?
"Okay," I agreed, nodding. "Thank you, Chris."
"You didn't belong in all this shit anyway."
"And if it weren't for me, none of this would have happened."
He didn't deny that, because we both knew it was the truth, as hard as it was for me to swallow.
If Lorenzo was dead, it was my fault.
I wasn't sure how my conscience was going to accept that, come to grips with that.
It wasn't the time for it, anyway.
Now was the time for survival.
And, eventually, freedom.
That was what Lorenzo wanted for me.
I would honor that.
"I have to go outside the door. In case anyone comes down," Chris said, sounding regretful.
A part of me didn't like the idea of being alone. The other part wanted solitude, needed to process all that had just happened, what it all meant, what the next move was from here.
"Okay," I agreed, nodding. "Thank you."
He gave me a tight nod and moved outside the door, closing it behind him.
Alone, the cool of the room settled deeper into my bones. But what sent goosebumps over my skin wasn't the cold, natural dampness of the basement.
No.
It was the puddle of darkening blood on the floor near my foot.
I scuttled back from it, leaning back against the wall again, feeling the relief on my ankle shackle once I gave it slack.
Tears flooded my eyes unexpectedly, blurring my vision, cracking open something deep inside.
I didn't bother fighting them, too tired to try. Instead, I leaned my head back against the wall, letting them flow freely, dropping down onto the bodice of my dress, darkening the material, soaking it as the time went on.
Eventually, they dried up. But not before they made my cheeks raw, my eyelids puffy.
And between the swollen eyelids and the sheer exhaustion that had been weighing on me finally won out, making my eyes flutter closed.
I dreamed of Lorenzo.
The same, yet different.
We were in his penthouse. But there were no guards, no locks on doors meant to keep me in.
Because I was there by choice, walking across his apartment with bare feet, carrying two mugs of coffee, handing one to a waiting Lorenzo leaning back on the couch, still in his loafers, slacks, and button-up, but his jacket was draped over the back of the sofa at his side.
He gave me a head tilt, eyes soft, and motioned me to him with the fingers of his free hand.
I went to him willingly, happily, settling in close at his side, feeling the weight of his arm settle around my shoulders, pulling me closer still.
It was the safest I ever felt in my life.
The warmest too.
The most content.
I woke up shivering, teeth chattering with the cold, my stomach churning painfully, my neck screaming when I tried to lift my chin from my chest where it had bobbed while I was asleep.
I wanted to go back to sleep.
I wanted to fall back into that dream.
I wanted anything but this hopeless reality.
"Hey," Chris's voice called, making me jolt, looking to find him moving toward me. "Come on. We have five minutes," he said, kneeling down to un-cuff my leg shackle.
I don't know why I did it.
Why I didn't just let him in on Lorenzo's last act of kindness toward me?
I guess because my conscience couldn't take any more good men catching bullets because of me. If he knew, he would be a sort of accessory. If he didn't, he was an innocent bystander.
So while he worked on the shackle, I lifted my hands to my face, pretending to block a yawn, slipping the key into my mouth, tucking it under my tongue.
The metallic taste was like a shock of caffeine to my weary system as the shackle finally fell.
Chris stood, reaching downward, grabbing my forearm, pulling me onto my feet.
"Christ. You're freezing," he realized, reaching out to chafe my arms, such an unexpectedly sweet gesture that I felt a small smile pulling at my lips despite the dire circumstances.
"I'm alright," I assured him, even if the cold felt like an ache in my bones at that point.
"If we have a minute, maybe I can get you something hot to drink," he told me, dropping his hands, moving in front of me. "Wait," he said, stopping me after two feet. "We need to get those off," he told me, motioning to my feet.
With that, he took off my heels, tucking them back over by my space, before we continued on, heading up the stairs.