Total pages in book: 88
Estimated words: 86168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 86168 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 431(@200wpm)___ 345(@250wpm)___ 287(@300wpm)
I put a finger on his chest and lean in close. I can’t believe how quickly I’ve gotten used to touching him. His skin’s warm and smooth, though there are a dozen pocked and puckered scars all over his chest and stomach. I didn’t notice them at first, but now I wonder how many times he’s done this.
“Follow me in a second. You go into my room. You keep the door shut and stay quiet until Gem leaves. Got it?”
“Thank you.” His earnestness is disarming. “You’re beautiful.”
“You’re drugged. Just stay quiet.” I slip out of the bathroom, make sure Gem’s busy in the kitchen, and gesture for Stellan to follow. He drifts past me, silent as a ghost. For a man his size, he’s shockingly stealthy as he slips into my bedroom and lightly closes my door. I catch a glimpse of his smirk before the door closes all the way.
I pause in the hall to gather myself.
This is beyond messed up. I just stitched what's clearly some kind of knife wound closed on a man who's been blackmailing me into dating him. And I'm pretty sure he's some kind of very successful criminal.
Normal people don't go to a new acquaintance for medical care.
“You all good?” Gem pokes her head down the hall and frowns. “You're still in your clothes.”
“Oh, uh, no, these are my backups.” I hurry past her. “Are you almost ready for school?” I busy myself cleaning a few dishes and making sure her bag is packed.
She gives me a skeptical frown, but I manage to distract her with questions about her college application.
It's the most stressful fifteen minutes of my life, but eventually she hurries out, banana and coffee in her hand, pausing only to kiss my cheek. “Love you, sis. Couldn't do this without you.”
“I know.” I watch her go, smiling a little.
Before I storm back to my bedroom. I fling the door open, prepared to tell Stellan how he's a bastard and he can't ever do this again and if he somehow jeopardizes my sister's path to a decent life I'll murder him myself—
But my room's empty.
I look around in a panic until I realize the window is open. I run over and poke my head out.
Stellan's down on the street, casually leaning against a stubborn city tree. He's still shirtless under his expensive suit jacket.
He raises a hand and nods before turning and walking off without a word.
I watch him go in stunned silence.
How the hell did he climb out of that window? High on drugs and with a freshly stitched knife wound? That's insane and impossible.
But I'm strangely relieved. At least now I don't have to ask him any uncomfortable questions.
Such as: why did he show up at my door?
And why did I actually help, despite how much I don't want anything to do with him?
STELLAN
There was a time not all that long ago when seedy motels littered Delaware County. They catered to the truckers bringing goods up from down south, pimps who needed cheap spots for their tricks to do business, men cheating on their wives, wives murdering their cheating husbands, that sort of thing. The good old-fashioned Delco way of life.
It's not like that anymore. At least the motels aren't. The same sort of shitbag people still flock to these places, but now the outsides all have that same bleak modernist look. Lots of random geometric designs, drab colors, minimalist interiors with that fake wood linoleum flooring stuff all over the place. Easier to clean blood off that stuff than it is to steam carpet.
Gone is all that character. But in other ways, it's better like this. Now that the motels look exactly the same, I know how to navigate them. Nobody looks twice at a big man wearing a long coat walking the halls of a place like this late at night. Nobody wants to get caught staring for too long. Not when they're probably doing some shady-ass shit too.
Lucky for me, the girl working the front desk was very helpful. She took my twenty-dollar bill and gave me a room number without asking too many questions. She smiled a lot and fluttered her eyelashes, and I bet she’ll have a good description for the cops when they inevitably show up sometime in the next few hours, but that can’t be helped. I have a face women like to remember. It’s a gift and a curse.
Room 215 is tucked in a dim corner of the building. I stand outside and check my phone. No calls or texts. I idly rub at the wound on my ribs and scratch at the stitches. It’s been over a week since I last saw Kira, and her handiwork is getting ready to come out. Every time I touch the cut, I think about her and wish I had more time to visit the diner.