Total pages in book: 109
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 102903 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 515(@200wpm)___ 412(@250wpm)___ 343(@300wpm)
“I . . . uh . . . I don’t think I’ll be able to walk for days,” she whispers. “I’m already feeling so sore.”
“Take it anyway,” Waylon demands. “And if you try to run, I’m just going to tie you down and fuck you even harder.”
What a fucking sicko.
I look at Hannah’s face, assessing her current state of mind. Of course I want her to keep going because of the possible information we can get from this fuck, but the last thing I’m going to do is push her to do something that’s making her way too uncomfortable.
“I am,” Hannah says, surprising the hell out of me. Her expression is that of raw determination. “Anything you say. I can take it.”
This woman . . . I swear, she’s so strong it’s not even funny.
“That’s right,” Waylon grunts. “Ah, shit. I don’t want to come yet. I want to keep going until you break. Until I see your blood on my cock.”
“Just let yourself come,” Hannah encourages, massaging her temples as she starts to get overwhelmed again. I don’t blame her one bit. I rub her jeans-covered knee just a little—just enough to provide some comfort—and then retreat back into my space to give her hers.
Waylon groans through his climax, and Hannah doesn’t waste any time taking the out, ending the call with her standard goodbye: “Thanks for calling Ruby’s line and letting me make your dreams come true. Call me anytime!”
She smashes the button to hang up and yanks off her headset as she takes several deep breaths.
And I quickly switch her phone to “off duty” before it can start ringing again.
“Come on,” I say, my voice soft as I jerk my head toward the exit door. “Let’s go outside for a minute.”
She nods and stands, and I let her lead the way out of the cubicles, through the door, down the hall, into the stairwell, and out onto the sidewalk without saying much. She’s very obviously working through her feelings, and I intend to let her.
But I’ll be here if she needs me. That much I’m determined to make true.
15
Hannah
12:30 p.m.
Vivid imaginings of a meetup with Waylon, live and in person, dance in my mind and crank my nerves into overdrive. I try to breathe through the panic, pacing the sidewalk to burn off some of the energy, but so far, I’m only getting more and more amped up.
Dom looks on from his spot, leaned against the van, and I work to gather my thoughts. There’s something about the way he watches me—calmly and steadily, like nothing could shake him—that makes me want to walk over and throw my arms around him. Just for a second. Just to feel that calmness up close.
And even though he doesn’t push, I still feel the pressure. The pressure to be strong, the pressure to woman up, the pressure to do everything I can to help them bring whoever this is to justice. Not to mention, all the other pressure I’m already carrying—to take care of my mom and her needs too.
The weight is crippling.
“You okay?” he asks when I stop pacing and turn to face him. His voice is gentle and his manner matches, but I’m a brittle shell of a human, and even the soft push is enough to make me break.
“No.” I shake my head. “I cannot believe people are like this. That they want to hurt women. That they’re actively hurting women.” A sigh leaves my lungs with a tremble, and I stare up toward the sky to contain the emotion that wants to escape my eyes. “I didn’t know Heather, but I’m sure she had her reasons for doing this, just like I do, just like Monica does, just like we all do. I . . . she was just trying to live her life, and because of someone—maybe Waylon, I don’t know—she can’t anymore. It’s sick. It’s twisted. It’s—”
“Hey, hey. I know, Hannah.” Dom’s voice is compassionate, and other things that make it harder for me to hold back a sob. I dig my nails into my palms, fighting the urge to close the space between us and let him wrap me up in his arms. God, why does that idea sound so tempting? “This is all tough. Really tough, actually. But you’re doing the best you can, and we’re going to figure out who’s behind Heather and Gwen’s deaths.”
“Gwen?” I ask, my head snapping back down and my eyes locking with his. “Who the hell is Gwen?”
Dom inhales a sharp breath through his nose and clasps his hands in front of his face before sighing. “I . . . I’m sorry. Technically, there’s another case with another girl who worked at Call Me Anytime who . . . died in the same manner as Heather.”
“There’s another Call Me Anytime girl who got killed?” I whisper-yell. “Why am I just finding this out now?”