Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 71616 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 358(@200wpm)___ 286(@250wpm)___ 239(@300wpm)
He shrugs a shoulder. “If you say so.” He finishes the whiskey in his glass and reaches to pour himself another. “I’ll be sticking around here a few days. Never been to Amsterdam, you know. But I’m guessing you’ll be heading back to New Orleans pronto.”
“It appears so.”
“I jotted her schedule down on the back of that photo.”
I turn it over. “You’ll keep looking into Ms. Masterson.” I get to my feet, taking out my wallet and dropping some bills onto the table for Nora.
“I wouldn’t consider my job done until I figure out who the hell she is.”
“I want to know everything there is to know about this woman. Every fucking detail.”
“You got it.”
“You know how to reach me.”
He nods and I turn and walk away.
1
Blue
24 Hours Later
* * *
I sip cold, burnt coffee, and scan my phone, refreshing the screen. Waiting. Still waiting. I should have had the money by now. Actually, Ezekiel St. James should have made the deposit weeks ago. But nothing. I sent another message this morning telling him not to play hard to get. Mentioning going public with my information in an attempt to light a fire under his rich ass. It’s not like he doesn’t have the money. Hell, a man like him will hardly miss 100K. For me, that money could mean the difference between life and death.
Water hisses on the stove making me jump. I set the phone on the counter and turn off the burner. I don’t know why I’m boiling pasta. I’m running late as it is so I’m not going to have time to eat more than a few bites before my shift.
Using a kitchen towel so as not to burn my hands, I lift the pot and hold the lid in place while pouring the steaming water into the sink. I set the pot back on the stove and dig a fork out of the drawer. I stab some of the noodles, cramming them into my mouth straight out of the pot. I can’t have my stomach growling as I’m serving the good men of The Society who have come to get their dicks sucked at The Cat House, after all. Not a good look. I eat several more forkfuls as I check the bank account, refreshing my screen yet again. Still no money.
Once I’ve crammed most of the pasta into my mouth, I check the time and tuck the phone into the pocket of my baggy sweats, the only thing I’ve got on that’s warm and remotely comfortable. I’m wearing the uniform—if you can call it that—that’s required for the serving staff of The Cat House. I pulled on a pair of sweatpants over top because it’s basically a onesie that rides too far up my ass and is cut so low one wrong move and a boob will pop right out. There’s a skirt. Well, it’s more a flap of material that leaves about half my butt on display. And somehow, it’s supposed to send a message that we’re not to be touched. Ogling is okay though. And flipping the skirt up every freaking time I bend over to set a drink down. I swear, they act like a bunch of horny teenagers.
I drop the fork and pot into the sink of the grimy little kitchen in this minuscule apartment and remind myself it’s temporary. Besides, even here, I’m lucky. I got off mostly unscathed. I’m much better off than Wren is or will ever be again.
At the thought of my sister, I dig my phone out of my pocket and send a text to Rudy, her main nurse. He’ll get the message to her. It’s a knock-knock joke, a game we play. I smile as I type out the words but it’s bittersweet because that’s pretty much what the entirety of this chat is made of. Stupid knock-knock jokes a child of six would find funny, not a twenty-one-year-old woman.
Shit.
I draw a deep breath in and stare up at the popcorn ceiling to hold back the tears. I can’t redo my makeup. I don’t have time.
What would she think if she saw me now in this uniform? Or I should say what would the old Wren think? I know what I look like.
Once I’m sure I won’t cry, I cross over to the closet to pick up my raincoat. That is an irrelevant question anyway. She’ll never see me in this thing. My time at The Cat House is coming to an end, after all. As soon as Zeke pays up. Then I can go get Wren. Drive up to Canada eventually. There’s a really good facility there and with that money in my account, I can afford it.
Anyway, that part comes later. I need to get the money first and, in the meantime, I need to keep my job at The Cat House. The patrons do tip well, at least.