Total pages in book: 70
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71949 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 360(@200wpm)___ 288(@250wpm)___ 240(@300wpm)
Present Day…
I come back to in pieces, as if a broken glass is repairing itself in slow motion.
Light.
A single bulb swings above me. I squint at the sting behind my eyes. My mouth is dry, as if someone has wiped it with a thick cloth. My shoulders ache, and my neck feels stiff.
A chair. It’s hardbacked and narrow. Metal bites into my calves. My wrists are bound, and the rope is rough against my skin.
And my chest. It’s tight, like I need to fight for my next breath.
But that’s not from the bindings.
It’s from knowing I’m not alone.
I try to lift my head. The room tilts.
When I do look up, I see a smirking grin.
Fuck.
Hernando Reyes.
No worse for the fucking wear from his time as my captive. At least not that I can see, but my vision is still blurry.
“You awake, Bellamy?” He pads into the pool of light as if he’s stepping into his parlor. He smells of expensive cologne and stale smoke. Guess he’s had a shower and a cigar since he escaped my grasp.
I force my jaw to work. “Let me go.”
He laughs, a short sharp thing that doesn’t reach his eyes. “Rule number one of being a criminal.” He paces in a slow circle. “Never come back to the scene of the crime.”
I roll my eyes. “You’re not a philosopher tonight, Reyes. Untie me.”
“Ah.” He stops right in front of me and leans down. “You’re one of those people who believes in what’s right, aren’t you? Justice. Law. The straight line where good men stand on one side and bad men on the other?”
I spit a laugh. I was that guy once.
Now?
I’ve done things I never thought I’d do in a million fucking years.
“See, I know all about you,” Reyes continues. “So you’ll understand why I’m amused. You came here to take what I have. You thought you could walk in and take evidence. Make me small. Save your own skin in the process.”
I pull against my bonds even though I know it’s no use. “You used women,” I say. “Abused them. Bought and sold lives.”
“And you beat an old man and left him tied in a barn.”
The words hit like a slap.
He’s not wrong.
I did what he said.
To him.
Because he hurt Daniela. And I thought he might be the person who’s threatening her now.
Does that make me virtuous?
Or evil?
“You think you’re clean because you dress up your actions in nice words,” Reyes says. “But men make choices. And, at the end of the day, I make my choices more respectfully. I make them loud and proud. I don’t labor under the delusion that I’m doing something good. I don’t apologize for my fucking actions.”
Fuck.
He’s clocked me twice now.
But there is a difference between what we did. I’ll admit, the morality is a little gray, but I’m not as evil as this motherfucker.
He turns away and from the shadow of a shelf pulls a small vial. The liquid inside is a dark and vivid red.
“It was so simple,” he says, twisting the vial between his fingers. “You gave me the easiest DNA in the world—fist prints on my safe. I thought I’d have to dig for blood, comb through the place looking for where you left yourself, but you pounded it into my safe and left it wet. I came back and the scent was still sharp. Lucky me.”
The scene snaps into place—the metallic scent when my knuckles split, the pain I didn’t feel because of the rage. I wasn’t thinking about leverage. I was thinking about justice.
Now I’m thinking about saving my own ass.
“You made a mistake,” Reyes says. “You should’ve known better.”
I grit my teeth, pull against the bindings once more.
How did this fucking rapist get the best of me? How did I let this happen?
The answer is in front of me, slapping me in the face.
I let my morals go. I let my anger at this man for what he did to Daniela cloud everything else.
“You let me go,” I say. “Or I’ll—”
“You’ll what?” He tilts his head. “You’ll tell the cops? Call the DA? Show them how you came into my home like a judge and executioner all in one? Tell them how you left the smart kind of prints?” He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small phone with no brand or case. A burner. He flips it open and lays it on the table in front of me.
“This is a favor phone,” he says. “You make the calls I want, when I want. You do one thing. One single favor. You owe me for the evidence you left.”
I stare at the phone like it might bite.
“You think a man like you can scare me?” I bite out.
He laughs again. “Scare? You’ve got youth and size on your side, but you seem to be a little tied up at the moment.”