Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 75450 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 377(@200wpm)___ 302(@250wpm)___ 252(@300wpm)
“What?”
“His name? What is it? You never sneak in the house. So I can only assume it’s because you have a new man friend and you don’t want me to know about him yet. But too bad. Now I do. So, what’s his name?”
I can’t tell you why it slipped out of my lips. Exhaustion? Confusion? The fact that not a single other male name appeared in my head as I stood there.
“Rune.”
“Rune. Oh, sexy.”
“Yep,” I agreed.
“When can I meet him?”
“Never.” I prayed. “Don’t pout at me.”
Sofia was a world-class pouter. It was how she ended up getting anything she wanted when we were growing up. Well, that, and she’d always been almost inhumanly beautiful, even as a baby.
As an adult, she was one of those super petite women with bird bones. Everything about her was small and delicate.
We had the same skin tone, the same eyes, the same face shape, but while we both got crazy thick hair, mine was mostly straight and she got amazing curls, even when she didn’t put much effort into them.
Even with her hair pulled into side braids, her face wiped clean of even a trace of makeup, and a star-shaped pimple patch near her jaw, she was probably the most gorgeous woman anyone had ever seen.
I’d say that God was fair and made her prettier but me more talented. But, nope, she got all the talent in the family too. Truly the chosen one.
I’d resent her if I didn’t love her so much.
“Fine. Don’t let me meet him. But can you tell me why you’re dressed like a cat burglar to go see him?”
I couldn’t stop the surprised snorting laugh that escaped me at that.
“I, uh, got behind on the wash.”
“I will never understand you,” Sofia said, shaking her head at me. “You clean for a living but your own life is a mess. It’s like that mechanic I dated whose own car was falling apart.”
“I spend so much time cleaning, the last thing I want to do at home is clean.”
“Well, you just added three more girls to your crew. Pretty soon you won’t be doing any actual cleaning anymore and can focus on that sty you call a bedroom. We’re going to bed. Come on, Hammy,” she called to the dog who immediately got up to follow, but paused to get a pet from me first.
I waited until they were upstairs with the bedroom door closed before I collapsed into an ancient wingback chair, cradling my face in my hands, and rocked back and forth, trying to find an outlet for the adrenaline of the night.
But almost an hour later, I was still climbing out of my skin.
With a grumble, I went to the kitchen, gathered up my cleaning caddy, then headed upstairs.
I always thought the most clearly when I was working. It was part of what I loved most about my job—everything was very physically repetitive, so I didn’t really need to think about it; my mind was free to wander.
Up until a year ago, I used to knock out one or two audiobooks a day while I worked.
Then everything changed.
Ever since then, all I could do was plan, plot, and prepare myself for what I needed to do.
All that time, wasted.
I closed my bedroom door, put on some headphones, cranked up my music, and tried to drown out any unproductive thoughts.
But even as my room was cleaned and gleamed by morning, I was no closer to coming up with a plan for how to handle this situation I’d gotten myself into.
Exhausted, I peeled off my sweaty clothes, took a quick shower, changed into pajamas, and sat off the side on my bed.
I stared at the picture on my dresser, feeling a hopelessness so deep I could drown in it.
“I’m sorry I screwed it all up,” I said to the face beside mine in the picture.
Then I passed out.
CHAPTER THREE
Rune
“You ready?” Croft asked, looking surprisingly bright-eyed and rested after a night of partying.
“For what?” I asked, not quite as refreshed.
What can I say? When you were almost shot in cold blood, it kind of kept you up at night.
“The home improvement store. You demanded I come with you, remember?”
Shit.
Yeah.
I had done that.
“Even though it’s Cane and Spike who are supposed to be doing the grunt work now,” Croft reminded me.
I didn’t even need the help, not really. And logically, I should have told him never mind, that I wasn’t going to get the project started yet. But I was going to need something to do to keep my mind busy while I tried to figure out who the mystery woman was… and why she wanted me dead.
“I didn’t need your help with supplies. I figured you wanted to make your room your own too.”
“Hadn’t really thought about it. But I guess I can get some paint. You wanna head out?”