Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Bay number two.
I sterilize everything before getting myself a new pair of gloves, and as I look over the body bag, I can already tell there’s a man inside. My gaze shifts over the notes from Dr. McKullan’s preliminary report. Male. Blue eyes. No significant markings in terms of tattoos or piercings. No identification.
Okay. I can work with that.
I confirm that steps have already been taken to identify the body with fingerprints, mouth and dental swabs, along with blood being drawn. The clothes have already been removed and bagged, leaving me an empty canvas to get straight to work.
With all the little boxes ticked, I ensure all my tools are prepped and ready before finally gripping the zipper and revealing the face beneath, only my heart stops, and agony shoots through my veins like poison.
“No,” I breathe, shaking my head as my eyes immediately fill with tears. “No, no, no.”
This isn’t happening. This can’t be happening.
Big, heaving sobs tear from my chest as my stomach twists with ugliness, unable to comprehend what I’m seeing right in front of me. My hands shake, and as I stare down at the body of one of my closest friends, I become crippled with pain.
Laith Mitchell, the one and only man I have been able to rely on over the past few years, lies dead on my table, his once bright eyes now lifeless and cold.
The tears stream down my cheeks in waves as it becomes almost impossible to catch my breath over the growing lump in my throat.
How could he be gone? Just like that.
We spoke almost every day, whether it be a call or just some stupid text to let him know I was thinking of him. Even now after letting our physical relationship take a backseat, we would still talk all the time. Just because we weren’t punching holes in his loyalty card didn’t mean that I didn’t still crave his friendship.
He was always the best to talk to, always knew how to put a smile on my face, even in the toughest circumstances. Sure, sometimes he was a flake who would leave me high and dry, especially when he was in the middle of a case, but I like that he put his career first just as I’ve always done. I respected that about him. But even then, if I truly needed him, he would do everything he could to try and make the time.
I just don’t understand how he would end up here on my table. Did someone do something to him? An angry client? A family member of someone Laith had put away? It doesn’t make any sense. While he was well on the road to becoming one of the top lawyers this city has ever seen, he was also one of the best people I have ever known.
Who would just hurt him like this?
The tears flow faster, and seeing that I’m not about to pull my shit together anytime soon, the asshole janitor finally decides to make an exit, not bothering to finish the job he started. It doesn’t matter anyway. It’s not as though he’s capable of doing a good job.
Despite the agony tearing through my chest, I try to do my job, needing answers just as much as I need this moment to grieve. Then as the painful sobs rip through my body, I peel back the rest of Laith’s body bag and get to work.
My gaze roams over him, knowing every inch of his body better than I know my own, and the moment I find the carvings on his chest, every last piece of me shatters.
I crash on top of him, my arms thrown around his body as the overwhelming grief tears me to shreds, realizing that I’m the reason he’s gone. I’m the reason he’s on this table. If we never knew each other, never got close and spent the last few years in each other’s beds, my stalker wouldn’t have ended his life.
He’s dead simply for being someone in my life.
The grief is too much. The self-blame and loathing are already eating me alive.
I should have said something, should have told the people in my life, but I kept it quiet in order to protect myself, to protect them, but who’s next? Izzy? Knight? My brother? If they knew, they would have told me I was crazy. They would have forced me to stop working just like Knight had attempted, but that’s not who I am, and now I’m the one to blame.
I cry and cry, holding on to him as though that could somehow make him come back, and I almost expect him to sit up and shove me off him, telling me this is some kind of sick prank. It’s not as though he hasn’t joked about it before. He had a dark sense of humor at the worst of times, but so do I. It’s part of the reason we bonded so well over the years. But this time, it’s no joke.