Total pages in book: 72
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 70524 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 353(@200wpm)___ 282(@250wpm)___ 235(@300wpm)
But this way, she makes more money in the long run.
Or does she? It’s got to be expensive to do all that traveling, paying for legal expenses to get everyone here on a green card. Plus she’s on the hook for housing and food and medical expenses for the next five years.
I scratch my head. It’s not adding up.
I don’t know all the details, of course, but something is nibbling at the back of my neck about it all—and it has been since Alissa started asking questions earlier.
Maybe Alissa is right. Maybe this thing goes deeper.
It could be a wild goose chase, but I love this woman, and I—
Fuck.
I love this woman.
I really do.
It’s only been a few days, and she’s run out on me twice now, but some invisible force has tethered her to me.
But it can’t be.
I don’t fall in love with women at the drop of a hat. I learned this lesson after Laurie dumped my ass the day of my father’s funeral. After what happened when I first started coming to Aces. I learned to carefully guard my heart, never allowing a woman inside. Most of the women I took to bed were expendable—gone in the morning with a disposable cup of coffee, a kiss on the cheek, and a lying “I’ll call you.”
But despite the walls I built around myself, Alissa managed to worm her way in. The way she speaks her mind without thinking, the way she twirls her hair around her finger when she’s contemplating, the way she zones out as she ponders something meaningful.
And…shit.
She’s going back into the same alleyway where that gang of thugs cornered her last night.
What was she thinking?
What was I thinking, letting her leave like that?
Where would she even be going? It’s not like she can figure out what Rouge is up to—if Rouge is indeed up to anything—by hitting up the Harold Washington Library.
If anything, my political connections are going to be the way to go about this.
She needs me to help her. And to protect her.
I get to my feet and run up the mirrored staircase, pounding on the door.
Chet opens it, cocking his head. “Leaving so soon, Mr. Hathaway?”
“Yeah.” I button my jacket. “Did you see Alissa?”
“Alissa?”
I roll my eyes. “I believe you call her Miss Wonder.”
Chet grins. “Are you looking for her?”
“Yes. That would be why I asked if you saw her.”
Chet clasps his hands together. “Do you think she left?”
“She went up the staircase, Chet. There’s only one direction she could go from this room.”
Chet raises an eyebrow. “Are you sure about that?”
“For Christ’s sake, of course I am. Did you see which way she went?”
“Which way do you think she went?”
“I swear to God, Chet…”
“Do you believe in God, Mr. Hathaway?”
I grab him by the shoulders, pressing his jacket up against the wall. The button keeping it together snaps off, revealing his pale hairless chest. And his nipples are…purple? Covered in violet makeup.
What the fuck is up with this guy?
“Give it to me straight, or I’ll fucking pound your skull against this wall until there actually is another exit out of this room. What the hell is going on here, Chet?”
His lips twitch. “What do you think is going on?”
I groan, exasperated. “Fuck this all, and fuck you.” I let go of Chet and exit through the black door. I look around the alleyway. No sign of Alissa. I grab my phone out of my jacket pocket and shoot her a quick text.
You okay?
I stare at the screen, willing the three dots to show up.
They don’t.
Shit.
I put the phone back in my pocket, and it rustles up against something.
I wrinkle my forehead. I don’t keep anything in my jacket pocket except my phone. It looks bulky otherwise.
Maybe it’s a receipt from the bar.
Except no. Aces charges all my drink orders directly to my account, and I’m billed for whatever my father’s estate doesn’t cover.
I pull it out of my pocket. It’s a piece of notepaper folded neatly into quarters. I unfold it. At the top is a phone number with the words Call me when you’re there, and then a message scrawled below it in ornate handwriting.
A figure of black, with points to its rank
Was lost near a henge of cascading wet banks.
In fields where the grasses grow wild and unkempt,
Its crown was interred—placed perhaps with contempt.
Search not for the heart, nor the diamond or club,
For their sister lies still beneath flower and shrub.
Where wings take to sky, and landings draw nearly,
You’ll find what was hidden, its fate mirrored clearly.
What the actual fuck?
29
ALISSA
My Uber drops me off at my apartment. I get out, bracing against the chilly winter air.
I don’t know what I was thinking, storming out of that club in the black of night when just twenty-fours ago I was being cornered by those goons.