Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 77160 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 386(@200wpm)___ 309(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
He carried needles up his sleeve, for God’s sake.
But one thing I did know was that Frank was definitely going to rape me. And this man stopped that from happening.
So, well, I ran.
And ran.
Until the tall stranger yanked me into an old parking garage.
His hand immediately released me, holding his hands up, palms out.
“You’re okay. I’m not gonna hurt you.”
“You… stabbed him.”
“Well… to be clear, only with a needle.”
It was so… calm, casual.
Like he wasn’t above using a knife, but it just hadn’t been the right time.
Normal people didn’t talk like that.
I glanced up at him.
Great bone structure, dark hair, green eyes, but that distinct Italian olive undertone to his skin.
This wasn’t a random savior.
This was another Grassi man.
“Are you R?”
“R?”
“Milo put someone in my phone with an R. R and D. And I met D tonight.”
“Remo, sweetheart. Now listen, you’re gonna have to do something right now. How good are you at conjuring up tears?”
“Right now?” I asked, already blinking them away as the adrenaline waned and the pain started to really set in on my arm.
“While it’s fresh, I need you to call the cops.”
“What?”
“You call the cops, say you don’t know what happened but a man collapsed on the sidewalk. Then say where. Tell them to hurry. Sound upset. Then hang up. That’s it.” Then, giving me a calm, reassuring look. “It’s not a lie. It’s not a crime. You’re just being a Good Samaritan.”
He handed me a phone.
I reached for it with sweaty, shaky hands and dialed.
I hitched my breath.
I let the tears flow.
Then I did what I was told.
When I was finished, I held the phone out to Remo, who quickly ripped out the SIM card and tucked it into his pocket.
“That was perfect.”
“But… why?”
“Because we can still save this if we’re smart.”
“Save it? He was going to rape me.”
Pain sliced across his handsome face.
“And if you never want to go back to that place, I understand and don’t hold it against you.”
“How could I ever go back?”
“Well, your boss just took a hefty dose of drugs. The kind that are gonna make everything that just happened pretty blurry. You can rewrite it, if you want.”
“How can you rewrite something like that?”
“He was crazed. Something was seriously wrong. He was grabbing you, hurting you, saying wild, crazy things that made no sense. And then he collapsed. You rushed away to find a phone to call the police. When Frank wakes up, he will be confused. He’s… rewriteable. So we rewrite him. If he doesn’t remember why he was actually pissed, I’m betting on him at least faking regret at hurting you.”
“You think we could use his remorse against him.”
“Something like that. But, listen, I’m not going to force it. Think on it. It’s okay,” he said when I jumped at a sound drawing near. “That’s my baby brother,” he said when a shadow moved closer to us.
Then there he was.
A younger version of Remo. A little chubby in the cheeks still. But the family resemblance was strong.
“He’s gonna walk you home. If you want, he can check your apartment to make sure no one is there. And if you look out your window at any time tonight or tomorrow and see some guy lingering, he belongs to me and he’s just there to make sure nothing else happens to you.”
With that and not a damn thing else, Remo turned and disappeared into the shadows from which his brother emerged.
“Is he always like that?”
“With the grand entrances and cocky exits?” the brother asked, shooting me a boyish smirk. “Yeah.” He held out an arm, waving toward the exit. “Let’s get you home.”
It was an offer.
But also, maybe, a demand.
So I fell into step with the stranger and let him walk me the rest of the way home. I even let him check my apartment.
“Ice your arm,” he told me when he stood in my doorway after he was done. “And take some ibuprofen. You’re going to swell. It’s going to hurt.”
With that, he was gone.
I turned and locked my doors before walking on numb legs over to my couch.
I collapsed down.
The tears came, pointless, but unstoppable.
And all I wanted was to take a ride back to the hotel and wrap myself in Milo’s arms.
But I didn’t do that.
I didn’t even call.
I just let the feelings wash through me, took some medicine, then grabbed an ice pack and moved to the window.
I pushed back the curtains and blinds.
And sure enough, there was a man lingering across the street, casually smoking a cigarette but keeping an eye on the building.
I took myself to bed but sat awake, staring blankly at my television, rolling over Remo’s words.
I couldn’t do it, could I?
Go back to work?
Face Frank again after that?
One thing stuck with me, though.
If Frank didn’t have his memory, it let me shape the narrative.