Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 66506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 66506 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 333(@200wpm)___ 266(@250wpm)___ 222(@300wpm)
“Awake now?”
I nodded, but the movement made my head hurt. My entire body ached, my muscles spasming with terror. Whimpering, I held my head in my shaking hands.
“Look at me,” he commanded.
I lifted my head, the effort causing more tears to pour down my cheeks.
He studied my face before speaking.
“What are you doing here? How did you get into this fucking building?”
I cleared my throat. “It–it was an accident. I got scared, and the door was open by the alley.”
“Scared of what?”
“I thought someone was coming after me.”
He studied me with narrowed eyes. “Looks like they already did.”
More tears leaked from the corners of my eyes. “That was someone else—that was what I was running from.”
He crossed his arms, his voice vehement. “You made a mistake coming here.”
I hung my head, too exhausted to hold it up. “Please,” I whispered, knowing it was useless.
“You saw something you shouldn’t have.”
“Nothing. I saw nothing,” I lied.
He laughed, cruel and low. “You’re a lousy liar.”
I forced myself to lift my head. “I won’t say anything. No one will know. Please let me go.”
“I can’t do that.”
The tallest man appeared in the doorway. “Boss? You need help?”
“No. Clean up the mess. Dispose of it.”
The tall man stepped forward, laying a gun on the desk.
I started shaking harder, long shudders running down my spine and racking my body. “Please…” I begged, my voice faltering.
“What?” the devil asked.
“Make it fast, please. And let me shut my eyes.” My voice wavered as more tears slipped down my cheeks. “There’s money in my pocket. Could you drop it at a shelter or something?”
“You assume I’m going to kill you.”
I nodded. “To shut me up.”
“Yet you’re asking for a favor. To help someone else. Not begging for your life.”
I didn’t know how to tell him my life was over anyway. Blaine would find me and kill me in some fashion. And he’d do it slowly. At least this way, it would be quick. But I didn’t respond. I was too tired. I shook my head.
There was silence for a moment. “I don’t do errands,” he said.
“Maybe one of your men?”
“Why would a dead woman care where her money went?”
A sob burst from my chest. Without thinking, I gripped his arm, the material of his overcoat thick and soft under my fingers. “Please. I’m begging you.”
“Now you’re begging for your life?”
“No. Begging you to show some mercy and give the money to a place that needs it. You don’t need it. But it could help someone like me.” I reached my hand into my pocket and pushed the wad of cash into his hand.
He stared, his gaze moving between the cash and my other hand gripping his coat.
“I don’t like to be touched.”
I pulled back my hand. “I’m sorry.”
He took the cash. “Where did you get this money?”
“I stole it.”
His eyebrows rose in question. “You stole it?”
“Yes.”
Movement caught my eye, and I watched, horrified, as the men in the other room rolled the dead bodies into large tarps. I hadn’t noticed the canvas on the floor until now. Once the bodies were moved, there would be no trace of them anymore.
I wondered if they had another tarp for my body.
A whimper escaped, and my shaking intensified. My body felt as if it had been shocked, and I had no control over the constant jerks and spasms.
“Don’t look at them. Look at me,” he ordered.
I snapped my gaze back to his.
“What is your name?”
“It doesn’t matter. No one will miss me.”
“I asked you your name.”
“Evelyn.”
“Who did this to you?”
Why was he toying with me? Why didn’t he just kill me?
“Does it really matter?”
He bent, bringing his face close to mine. “You, Evelyn, are trying my patience. You need to learn something. If I ask a question, you answer. If I say do something, you do it. You understand?”
“Y–yes,” I breathed out, trying to control the shudders and failing.
“Who did this to you?”
“His name is Blaine.”
“Is Blaine your husband?”
I felt a flash of anger. “Why? If he was, does that give him the right?”
He narrowed his eyes, the slits glittering, livid and black in the muted light. “No.”
I slumped forward. “No, he isn’t. He was my boyfriend. He started beating me after my dad died.”
“When was that?”
“S–six months ago,” I choked out.
“Did your father like this man?”
I didn’t understand his line of questioning or why he cared.
“No. He didn’t.”
He rubbed his chin. “Your father was a smart man.”
“Yes,” I whispered.
“Tell me your story.”
I wanted to scream at him to stop putting off the inevitable. My story didn’t matter anymore. But recalling his warning, I kept that to myself. Swallowing around the painful lump in my throat, I spoke. “My dad got sick, and I left work to look after him. When he died, Blaine insisted I move in with him until I found a job, and that was when it started. We moved, and I didn’t know a soul. I had no one to turn to. It’s been getting worse. He always apologized and promised not to do it again. Then a month ago, it stopped. I thought he had changed. He brought me from Alberta here to Toronto on a business trip. Except, when we got here, I found out it wasn’t a…business trip.”