Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 72421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72421 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 362(@200wpm)___ 290(@250wpm)___ 241(@300wpm)
“You met Aunt Cosima?” Naomi’s attention is on Bonte.
“Yes.”
“Got it.” Naomi shakes her head.
“You going to fill us in on what’s going on in that mind of yours?” I ask her when she doesn’t go on.
“No. I’ll watch this one play out.” I don’t have time for this, so I move on to the next topic.
“What are you thinking?” Bonte is all I’m worried about right now.
“That you should probably get away from me.” Her lips start to tremble, but she presses them together to hide it.
“Not going anywhere, so try again.”
She peers up at me through her lashes. “I don’t know what to do,” she finally says. “What do you think we should do?”
We.
My hellcat is getting it. She’s no longer alone. We’re in this together.
Chapter Ten
BONTE
Instead of focusing on my own messed-up life, I focus on Naomi, who is equally focusing on me. I’m like a bug she is trying to study. It doesn’t bother me that she finds this fascinating. In fact, I’m finding her fascination equally interesting.
“What was it like growing up with a serial killer for a father?” Naomi is sitting beside me at the kitchen island but is turned toward me. Her elbow rests on the counter with her chin in her palm.
“Can’t I ask you that same question?”
“You think my father is a serial killer?”
“Well, has he killed more than three people with a cooling-off period between the murders?” She wasn’t the only one that watched true crime.
“I have no idea what you speak of.”
“I’m playing imaginary.”
Naomi seems to mull this over. “I suppose in the generic term of the word, he could be classified as such, but his motions are driven by other things. He doesn’t go out searching for a target.”
"I didn't know I was growing up with a serial killer. That wasn't a side of him that he showed me."
"Right, because serial killers can use a rather charming 'mask of sanity' to hide their violent nature. And that's why we don't call you a serial killer," Mac says to Naomi. I don’t know if that’s a joke or not, and I sure as shit ain’t asking.
"I can be charming." She forces a smile.
"That looks painful," I tell her while trying to suppress my laugh, but Mac doesn't.
"I'm working on it, okay? Cut me a break." Naomi shoots Mac a glare that she responds to with a kissy face.
Watching the two of them is entertaining, but it makes me think of Kinsley. We had good banter, and I thought we had this weirdly good chemistry that played well off each other. I really am the worst at reading people, clearly.
Eros comes walking back in the front door where he’d slipped out twenty minutes ago. He tosses Mac the phone she’d given him.
“I think it’s best if we go back to the farm. It's the safest there.” That might be the last place I want to go.
It means I’ll have to see Kinsley and Damon at some point, and I’m not ready to deal with them. That said, if that’s what’s best for everyone, it’s what I’ll do. I don’t want anyone getting hurt because of me, and I know Eros isn’t going to let me give him the slip.
Besides, where would I go? The people that were acting as my parents are dead. If I go back, I’ll be snapped up by the Feds and moved again with a whole new identity. Maybe that wouldn't be the worst thing. At least for the people around me.
“I could take the cat,” Naomi offers. She gives Binx another pet. There are these glimpses of softness you catch with her. They're small, but they’re there.
“You’re not taking our cat,” Eros says before I can respond.
“Ours?” I raise a brow at him.
“You’re mine and he’s yours, so yeah, that makes him mine as well.” I open my mouth to respond to that logic, but again, I’m beaten to the punch.
“Don’t even try to counter it. That’s Marino man logic,” Mac tells me.
“That rationale makes sense to me,” Naomi sides with Eros.
“Okay, Marino men and oftentimes Naomi,” Mac corrects.
“Don’t group me with the men.” Naomi wrinkles her nose at the idea.
I look to Eros. “Come on.” He holds his hand out to me, and I take it, letting him lead me to the bedroom. He shuts the door behind him, but this place is so small I’m not sure that’s doing much.
“I’m okay,” I tell him before he can ask. “And I’ll come to the farm.”
“You’re not fine,” Eros says as I plop down on the bed.
“I’m not, but probably not for the reasons you’re thinking.” I squeeze the bridge of my nose.
“Talk to me.”
“My head is just messed up.” I sigh. “I should be upset they’re dead, but there isn’t anything there.”
“You’re not your father,” Eros quickly reminds me, knowing exactly what path my mind is trying to go down.