Total pages in book: 105
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 98755 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 494(@200wpm)___ 395(@250wpm)___ 329(@300wpm)
That hits me with a terrifying force.
Oh, how far I’ve fallen.
I’m a disappointment.
My father takes a step to the left so Braxton can pass. When he crosses the threshold, he looks back at me, words unsaid, betrayal, and pain surfacing in his eyes. But what did he expect me to do? What was he about to say?
Anya walks over and slams the door in his face. It’s so loud that I grit my teeth instead of flinching as she turns around. “Seems we have a few things to discuss.”
My father starts looking around as if he’s about to discover something else that I’ve been hiding. When I look back to my aunty, she’s studying me as if she’s discovered something new and foreign.
“How long has this been going on for?” she asks, crossing her arms over her chest. “And so help me, God, little one, if you don’t give us answers, we will kill him.”
“That’s not what we came here for,” Dad growls.
“Oh, come on now, don’t be so stiff, Aleksandr. I know you want to know, too,” she bites back at him. I can’t help but feel like I’m being circled by two sharks as I try to keep myself afloat in a tank full of blood.
“A few months,” I confess.
Her eyebrows rise. “My, my. We are good at keeping secrets, aren’t we?”
“He’s the detective from that night Charlotte stole the wallet,” Dad says as he stops at the piece I’m currently working on.
“Yes.”
“And he could ruin us. Could be using you,” he says, looking up at me. I know that look. It’s the one he gives every time he’s about to dispose of an immediate danger.
“Please don’t kill him. I—” The words cut off at my throat.
“You love him?” my aunt says condescendingly with a roll of her eyes. “Men come and go. There’s plenty for you out there. Don’t settle. Especially for one who isn’t rich.”
“I’m not like you, okay?!” I snap. And for the first time, my aunt looks like she might be… hurt isn’t the right word. I’m certain my aunt doesn’t even bleed. I adjust my glasses, wanting to hide behind them. But the part of me that Braxton has nurtured—that I’ve nurtured—rises up to challenge them. “I’m not like either of you.” In many ways. “You can’t tell me that it was all smooth sailing between you and River,” I say to Aunt Anya. I then look at my father. “Or you and Mom. You’ve said it yourself that you two come from different worlds, and yet, you make it work.”
“This is different, Hope,” my aunt argues, and my father simply stares at me as if seeing a side to me he’s never witnessed before. “You’re young, impressionable—”
“I am my own woman!” I shout. “And I can’t live under the perfect little bubble you expect of me anymore.”
She’s taken aback, clicking her tongue. “No one has ever put expectations on you, little one, except for yourself. Don’t blame others for situations or routines you’re not yet brave enough to get out of yourself.”
It’s like a slap to the face.
“Enough,” Dad says. “We’ll discuss this at a later time. We came here for something else.”
“We’re not moving on from this discussion until both of you promise me you won’t touch him.” I raise my hand at my aunt and add, “Or order anyone else to touch him.”
They share a look, and my aunt tsks disapprovingly.
“For now,” Dad agrees, but it doesn’t give me any confidence in the matter.
Palpable tension fills the air and then shifts into something else. Something deadly as my aunt speaks. “We got a tip. A concerning one, to say the least.” She smiles. “You’ve become messy, Hope Ivanov.”
I look at my father in confusion. What the fuck are they talking about? “Tip?”
“Yes, you know that when bad things happen in the city, those things will, in some way or another, end up coming through us, correct?” Anya says, and my father watches me carefully.
“What are you talking about?” I’m so confused. Are they still referring to me and Braxton? That he and I are bad? I already knew that, but I didn’t think they knew that. I assumed I was doing a good job at hiding it all, but maybe I was wrong. Maybe I’m doing this all wrong. I should’ve ended it with him because now I have my family standing here, and my father is looking at me like he hasn’t seen me before.
I don’t like it.
I love my family; I truly, deeply do. It’s one thing in this life that I know God gave me right. And I understand how completely fucked up that sounds to an average person, but who else has an aunty who would literally kill for them? Because I know for sure mine would.