Total pages in book: 35
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 33243 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 166(@200wpm)___ 133(@250wpm)___ 111(@300wpm)
“No, no, no. Please, Uncle Jax. I’m sorry. I—”
The words die on my tongue when the smoldering wood makes contact with the side of my face. White-hot agony pierces through every fiber of my being, the heat leaking into my skull. The smell of burning flesh and singed hair fills the air, along with my screams.
The thick, cloying odor of charred wood is the last thing I remember before darkness claims me.
In the end, it doesn’t matter. Nothing else does because I saved her. I saved the girl. It was the only time I didn’t let the terror get to me and stop me from helping her.
One look and I knew she wouldn’t survive this place. Not for a week. Not for a month. It was for the best. Even if they killed me, it would be worth it. I ignored too many others, turned the other way when their cries for help reached my bedroom window. I slept soundly even though none of them ever slept another peaceful night in their lives again. But at least I saved one. At least I did something good in my short life.
The small daisy hair clip under my pillow is proof of that. I hope she’s all right. I hope she’s found someone to protect her and keep her safe. That’s all I want.
I only feel bad that I won't be able to say goodbye to my brothers. Then again, we can’t have everything we want, can we?
1
ALEC
“Oh, fuck me. Of course. Go ahead and roll wherever you want. How about hiding under that planter? I swear to God, this day can’t get any worse. No, God. No universe. That is not a challenge. I take that back. I take all of that back.”
The woman in blue scrubs bends down to pick up the apples, oranges, and cans that tumbled down from her overflowing grocery bag. She mumbles while she shoves the fruit one by one into her paper bag, and I have to look around to check if she’s talking to anyone.
Nope. She’s talking to herself.
Her ass is in the air and at least four steps in front of me. She has nice round globes, of course, but I don’t let my gaze linger. She’s clearly in distress, and the last thing I need is for her to take out her frustration on me.
I’ve had a long day myself, so this I clearly understand.
There’s just one problem.
My apartment building has a small entrance, and for some reason, my pinchpenny landlord has added huge plant boxes on either side of the glass doors. Thus, the only way to get into the lobby is to side-step the woman, who’s blocking my way with her ass. There’s no point helping her because she’s done stuffing the fruits.
She continues to talk to herself, which makes me wonder if she’s actually here mentally.
Oh, well. Whatever.
Her business, not mine.
Since she seems unaware of her surroundings and me, I clear my throat to get her attention. Her head swivels to me, and the moment her eyes meet mine, my heart starts giving an erratic beat, which is weird. My legs forget how to move, and some oddly intense feeling comes to me in a blinding flash.
What the hell?
My hand tightens on my phone, so tight I think it’s gonna crack. It’s like my body tenses with just one look from her. What’s going on right now?
The woman, whose raven black hair is tied in a messy bun, grabs something from the back of her head and pulls it, leaving her long wavy hair cascading down her shoulders and back, framing her round face beautifully. The simple motion shouldn’t send me reeling, but it does.
It fucking does.
From out of nowhere, I see visions of her lying on my bed, her glorious hair fanning on my pillows.
Jesus Christ. I need to get out of here.
Her hazel eyes are drawn to the right side of my face—typical when I’m meeting someone for the first time—at the scar running from my forehead down to my jaw and neck and disappearing under my shirt. I try to resist the urge to cover it up with my hair and collar, but she quickly realizes what she’s doing and shakes her head.
“Hi. I’m Zara, your new neighbor.” She extends a small hand full of streaks and smudges of red and blue ballpoint pen ink. Her smile is genuine, and it reaches her eyes.
Most people, after they see me in broad daylight, look away with flashes of uncertainty on their faces, like they suddenly don’t know how to deal with me. Not her. Not only does she maintain eye contact, but she neither shows disgust nor pity. Just curiosity.
The reason why I chose this crappy complex over other more luxurious ones is because I rarely see the other tenants. They usually just come home to sleep and leave as soon as they can. I’m familiar with the faces, but we don’t greet each other or stop for small talk unless absolutely necessary. I can count the number of times I nodded in greeting to the people on my own floor.