Total pages in book: 85
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 83430 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 417(@200wpm)___ 334(@250wpm)___ 278(@300wpm)
“Because we want to fix it.” Mr. Davis sits on the couch opposite this time. I get the feeling he’s allergic to crying girls. Probably seen more than a few of them in his life though. “Peter can be a rowdy boy—“
“Rambunctious but well-meaning,” Mrs. Davis clarifies.
“So we’re very familiar with situations like these.” Mr. Davis’s expression hardens as he leans forward. “Are you very sure your family doesn’t know?”
“I haven’t told anyone else.” I dab my eyes with the tissue. “Not Papa or my older brothers. Not yet, anyway.” I wonder if they hear the potential threat in that statement. I might not be the most important member of the Sarkissian family, but I’m still one of theirs, and they wouldn’t be happy to learn their little baby girl got fucked and beat up by some idiot Davis grandson.
The pair of old bastards exchange a very pointed look.
Mrs. Davis speaks first. “That’s good… which means a solution seems very obvious…” She leans in closer. “We know a very good, very discreet doctor who can take care of this problem for you. We can make it disappear entirely. You’ll barely know it even happened when it’s all over.”
“Really?” I let a little hope in my voice. At least, I try to, while masking the revulsion.
“But the photographs.” Mr. Davis stands. “I’ll need your phone now, dear.” He holds out his hand. “Be a lamb, unlock it, and hand it over.”
Brenden
The safe in Mr. Davis’s office is hidden behind a false painting. Seriously, it’s like something straight out of a TV show. I’ve never seen it before, but luckily they cheaped out on the safe itself, whereas the fake-painting-construction is extremely well done. Otherwise, I’d be spending all evening trying to drill the fucker, instead of using a shim to pop the front facing open.
No time to marvel at the workmanship. I get to struggling with the safe, reminded of the night I cracked into the Sarkissian house. What a shitstorm that was. I got what I needed, but finding Sam’s material has only made my life that much harder.
Any other time, under any other circumstances, and there’s no way in hell I’d withhold a score from Arsen. What is Sam to me, really, except for a fake brother-in-law? But it’s not him I care about, not really, even though I do like the kid.
It’s Tallie I’m doing this for.
The woman I wanted to escape from, and now?
I’m pinned by her. She’s a spotlight and I’m a creep. She’s all the light in the world keeping me together, because if the darkness comes back, I’m going to drift apart.
What the hell am I going to do?
I manage to get the safe rebooted and I’m about to input the default code when there’s a noise in the hall. I freeze, listening carefully. Someone’s definitely coming. Cursing, I throw myself behind a settee sitting in the corner, wedging my body down where it really doesn’t fit, and lay as still as I can with a wooden leg jammed against my face.
I see comfortable shoes and there’s a voice.
The same woman from outside.
“Doing it all over again, the sick bastards… and here I am, following their orders. Get our blackmail materials, Patricia. Find the gun and shoot the girl in the head. One of these days… What the fuck?”
A nervous jolt pulses through me and I realize—
The painting is still hanging open.
And the front panel of the safe is lying on the floor.
Oh, fucking shit.
With a grunt of effort, I throw myself up over the back of the settee. The woman is gaping at it like she can’t believe her eyes. She hardly reacts, turning in slow motion in my direction, a thick envelope clutched between her hands. She shrieks, arms flailing wildly, and cash flies all over the place, fluttering through the air as I ram into her, knocking her backwards. No time for finesse—she bashes into the bookshelf.
But the girl’s tough. She lashes out, trying to punch me, and I have to grab her by the face and slam her skull back a second time. There’s an ugly crunch and she goes limp, blood slicking the wood behind her as she sinks down to the floor with an audible thump.
Fuck. I stand above her, breathing hard. There’s a chance she’s still alive, but a small one. God damn it, this wasn’t supposed to happen. I check her gingerly and she’s still breathing.
For now.
Tallie
“Where is that girl?” Mr. Davis mutters to himself as I pull my knees to my chest. Mrs. Davis continues to rub my back. I wish she’d stop.
“When Patricia comes back, we’ll take care of you,” Mrs. Davis tells me for the tenth time.
“I’m sorry about this. I’m just so sorry.” I keep repeating it over and over. “But I need ten thousand if I’m going to hand over my phone.”