Total pages in book: 63
Estimated words: 58883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 58883 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 294(@200wpm)___ 236(@250wpm)___ 196(@300wpm)
“You fuckin’ bitch. After everything I’ve given you, you’re still an ungrateful slut like you’ve always been. Nothing but a pathetic cock whore. A bitch who spread her legs for her own fucking brother. You’re disgusting, Katelyn. I should break your neck and put you out of your misery.”
I push his hands down on my neck, adding to the pressure to my trachea. “Do it, you coward. Do it!” My voice comes out strained, crushed by his hands.
I cringe every time he touches me. Sometimes I close my eyes and pretend his hands are Heath’s, and those moments allow me to escape into the past, to a time when my life had meaning and still held the sweet glow of hope.
Eddie’s brow dips in frustration before he howls and stumbles back from me, his eyes haunted like he cannot believe what he’s done. This is what it’s come to—we’re reduced to two dysfunctional people, suicidal, homicidal, covered in the emotional and physical evidence of our fragmented hearts. It’s the same shame-filled look he always gives me after he’s taken it too far, almost past the point of no return, the end of the road, curtains.
It’s as if he sees me dead and himself in jail, a vision to finally shake him out of it,
I grip my mangled throat, rubbing away the violence he imprinted. Our eyes lock as our chests rise and fall with adrenaline. We’ve come too close to destroying one another. Our game of love and hate will be the end of us someday.
He rakes his hands through his hair, disheveling the loose blond strands from their gelled-back tenure. His eyes connect to mine, bloodshot, angry, welling with tears.
“Why can’t you love me?”
I feel bad for Eddie. I’ve tried to love him. I’ve given it my best shot. But I can’t lie anymore, so I tell him the truth instead.
“You’re not him.”
His impulsive fist sails toward me and connects with my temple; I welcome the ensuing numbing darkness.
CHAPTER 12
Heath
I take a drag of my cigarette as I stare at the English Tudor style mansion that serves as a vault for all of my best and worst memories. Growing up here was both a blessing and a curse, the blessing being the five hundred thousand I inherited from Richard Shaw helped me establish myself in life.
When I left this place, I spent the following six months in a perpetual haze of alcohol and weed, anything to numb my senses and help me forget how I’d left my shattered heart behind these walls. It took me months to soothe and self-medicate before I got smart. The day I realized wallowing in misery wasn’t going to get me what I wanted, I made drastic changes to my life. I set goals, I put my eye on the prize, and began to hustle.
Growing up on the streets has its benefits. I know how to put together an operation and run an outfit. Street connections never die, and I used my reserves to get my foot in the door, even drawing on my dead dad to get me connected. Luckily, it worked in my favor. I got my independence. My fortune grew and with it, my power. But the end goal was always Kat in my arms, even if sometimes I was too proud to admit it.
My first break came when I got a job as a bouncer at a local sports bar, and that’s when the owner, Georgio Fratelli saw what I could do with my fists. He saw dollar signs in my relentless anger and wanted to harness it to do his bidding. I had a lot of pent-up rage brewing inside me and Fratelli knew it was an asset. A guy with a broken heart who’s got nothing to lose was a virtual goldmine for a mobster like Fratelli. I was Georgio’s perfect naive hothead to take advantage of—the guy assigned to do his dirty work.
So there I was, nineteen, fucked up and starting to get in deep with the Italian mob. But the one thing I had going for me over the other meatheads was that I was smart. Not just street smart—I had a fucking education from Fairview, the most elite private school on Long Island, thanks to Richard Shaw. The other runners in my circle were lucky if they had a GED and got cocky if they managed not to drop out of high school. Georgio knew what he had in me and hooked me up with a guidance counselor who processed my deferral from NYU and got me re-enrolled to start classes toward an MBA. Georgio was no dummy. He knew what an asset I was, and he spoke to me like I was his equal, well on my way to becoming one of their inner circle.