Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 90972 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 455(@200wpm)___ 364(@250wpm)___ 303(@300wpm)
“I lost mine when I was fourteen,” he explains.
“That’s a bit young,” I say quietly, uncomfortable with this conversation.
“My dad gave me a prostitute as a gift.”
My head snaps up, and I glance over at him in shock. “That’s messed up.”
Kellen just shrugs, seemingly not finding it as shocking as I am. What kind of father gives his teenage son a prostitute?
My mind is still reeling with Kellen’s words when we pull into my neighborhood. I can breathe easier now that I’m certain he is actually taking me home. A few minutes later, we pull up to my house. As soon as the car comes to a full stop, I open my door.
“Can’t wait to get away from me?” Kellen says when I’m halfway out of the vehicle. I don’t tell him, yes, that’s exactly what's happening. I don’t know what else he is expecting from me? Should I tell him thanks for basically kidnapping me, or be appreciative that he didn't hurt me today? I shouldn't have to thank him for anything, but not saying something at all feels weird, too.
“Thanks for the ride,” I manage to say.
“See you around, Dragonfly.”
I shut the door and speedwalk to the house. I still don’t know what kind of game he was playing tonight, but I’m relieved it’s over now.
Chapter 15
Kellen
That’s right, little Dragonfly. You keep going through your day without noticing me watching.
I can’t figure out how she doesn’t know I’m here. Watching. Doesn’t she feel me? Can’t she sense my presence looming over her like a shadow? Is it possible she doesn’t feel the way I do—constantly thinking about the time we’ve spent together, craving more of it?
Of course she doesn’t, and when I’m thinking clearly, I know why. It makes sense she doesn’t think about me because, unlike me, she doesn’t have a job to do. There’s no deeper reason behind our interactions.
It’s good she sees it that way. Otherwise, it wouldn’t be so easy to trail her from her shift at the convenience store and sit across the street from the coffee shop near campus while she studies and nurses cup after cup of coffee. Not that I’m watching for danger or anything, though it would be good to know she’s safe in there.
For now. Because soon, it will be collection day again; only this time we’re making a house call. And no way I’m letting those pricks do it on their own.
Or maybe I could lure her out while it’s going down. Her dad’s problems are my problems, but they shouldn’t be hers, too. I could get her out of there, protect her, and if Dad had a problem with it, I could remind him an attack on the home won’t do anything to get her to drop out of school. It’s all so interwoven, almost impossible to separate business from personal. Because I had to go and let it get personal.
It’s another bleak, cold day, with a thin rain that fits well with my mood. From this vantage point, I can see her hunched over her books spread out in front of her. She’s reading something for school, taking notes diligently. I like seeing her absorbed like this, like she’s unaware of the world around her. She has the ability to sink deep into whatever it is she’s doing. After everything she’s been through, she’s still innocent. Trusting. Able to shut off all the external bullshit.
I wish she could teach me how to work that magic trick, because I sure as hell haven’t been able to compartmentalize lately. I used to be good at it, because I had to be. Because if I didn’t learn real fast how to shut out whole chunks of my memory, I wouldn’t be able to function.
It started the day after I killed Dad’s one-time best friend. Uncle Joe—that was what I used to call him. That was how I always knew him. They were as close as brothers, and I used to love when they’d start bullshitting about the past. All the stories they would tell. They used to fascinate me.
But their past didn’t keep Uncle Joe from skimming off the top.
“I blame myself.” There was actual, genuine sorrow in Dad’s voice as he circled the chair his former best friend sat slumped in. Beaten, bloody, going in and out of consciousness while Dad watched and made me watch with him.
You’re going to learn a lesson tonight. Never trust anyone.
“I was blinded by the past,” Dad muttered, staring down at the blood-soaked mess who used to sit down to eat holiday dinners with us. He took me for my driver’s license when Dad was too busy. He even bought me a beer after—I always looked older, and besides, nobody refused him. Along with Dad, he was one of the most feared men in town. “I never imagined he would betray me like this. For years. Years!” he screamed, making me flinch.