Total pages in book: 56
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 52779 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 264(@200wpm)___ 211(@250wpm)___ 176(@300wpm)
Oscar’s wiry, early twenties, and I outweigh him by about fifty pounds. I can get the drop on him easily except his pupils are blown wide. He’s high as a damn kite and that makes him unpredictable.
“You overlooked me. I’m not worth your time so I made my own way. Proved I was too good for your crappy casino. I can make more in a week now than I did in a month at the Oyster.”
“Pushing oxy to teenagers?”
“I want what you owe me,” he spits. “Gimme your wallet.”
“You’re gonna try and mug me in the parking lot of my own casino,” I say. I don’t go for my wallet or anything else. I keep it casual, hands where he can see them.
“Like you got fuckin’ clean hands and never did nothin’ wrong? You’re a killer and everybody knows it.”
“Then what does that make you? Besides stupid enough to bring a Nerf gun to a firefight?”
Oscar glances at his thirty-six and it’s all the time I need. I pull my nine millimeter out and pop him in the shoulder. His gun clatters to the concrete and I knock him out in one punch. By the time the guards bust out of the door behind him all that’s left is cleanup. I turn and pull Katie into my arms. She’s crying and I shrug off my jacket to put around her, holstering my gun and scooping her up. I carry her to the car and tell Hank to get us out of here.
“Take me home,” she sobs.
“We’re going home,” I croon, gathering her in my lap, kissing her hair. She shakes her head adamantly.
“I can’t, Mick. I can’t do it. Please. Just take me to my house. I thought I was gonna watch you die there in the parking lot—” she breaks off.
It’s devastating to hear the terror in her voice, but the resignation is worse. She’s not the first woman to say it and won’t be the last. But she’s the only one that’s ever mattered to me.
All the way to her house, I hold her, stroke her hair, kiss her. First her temple and her cheek, her eyelids, then the corner of her mouth. Her tearstained lips cling to mine and I taste the salt. It feels like the end of the world to me. I want her to stay, to go home with me, but I know without another word that she’s sure. She’s done with me. Not because I’m a workaholic who won’t commit to her, but because of who I am. Too dangerous and not worth the risk.
When she gets out at her house, I can see Rory’s not home.
“Can I come in with you? I don’t think you oughta be alone,” I offer. She shakes her head. She knows nothing will stop this same as I do. “Let me call Rory to come home then.”
“No, I’m okay on my own.” she says, “Thanks for—dinner,” she says and I want to apologize but I can’t even say what for.
I get in the car and leave as soon as she gets inside. The chill that rockets through me feels final, like a curse I can’t escape now. I go back to the Pearl to deal with the fallout, to find out what we know and who to question. There’s no way in hell I’m going home tonight. When all hell breaks loose, I stand at the gates like the devil himself.
20
KATE
Iwake up sick as I’ve ever been. I had half a glass of wine last night at the restaurant. I’m not hungover but it feels worse than that. I’m clammy and sick to my stomach. As soon as I reach for my phone to check the time, I know I’m going to puke. I stagger to the bathroom in time to vomit hard into the toilet. I think wistfully of the days when Mom would have been here, told me to rinse out my mouth and handed me a washcloth for my forehead before she tucked me in bed and fetched me a glass of ginger ale.
I stumble back to bed, messaging HR to report I’m sick and can’t make it to work today. I roll over in bed and berate myself for giving in to anxiety. It has to be that. I’m lightheaded and freaked out about last night and I puked. It’s worse but not too far off from the anxiety attacks I had before I left LA when I realized I couldn’t make rent anymore and I had to admit failure.
I squeeze my eyes shut and tried counting backward from one thousand by sixes which is just annoying enough to distract from the anxiety sometimes. Unfortunately, just when I’m getting to the seven hundreds, I feel another wave of nausea. I make it to the toilet where I grab a towel to cover up as I lay on the floor, teeth chattering, head swimming. I wake up a short bit later and manage to rinse out my mouth and crawl into bed. It’s two in the afternoon and I just pull the covers up and lay there, miserable.