Total pages in book: 67
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 63400 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 317(@200wpm)___ 254(@250wpm)___ 211(@300wpm)
Every instinct I have is telling me to call the police. Isn’t that what normal people do when they’ve been the victim of a crime?
But I am more than just a victim. I’m also a killer. Maybe a justified killer, but a killer still the same.
“Fine,” I answer, shuffling back to the bathroom.
Between my injuries and a growing headache, it takes me ten minutes to do as Z asked. The pain in my shoulder is getting worse, and my hand has bled through the gauze he taped it up with, forcing me to wrap a bunch of toilet paper around the wound to keep it from dripping.
By the time I return to the foyer, he’s just finishing putting what looks like a wallet into a large Ziplock bag already containing a watch, cell phone, and…
“Is that the knife he used on me?” I blurt out.
Z doesn’t bother to look up from his work as he answers. “Yeah. I’m guessing it’s the same knife you used on him, too, right?”
Memories of the fight of my life flash before my eyes. With a certainty, I realize those pictures will live rent free in my brain for the rest of my life.
“Rowan…” he prods, bringing my attention to his question.
“I only saw one knife.”
“Good,” Z answers before lifting a handgun up for me to see. “Did you know he had a gun too?”
The urge to throw up returns, realizing just how much worse things could have turned out tonight.
“No, and I’m glad I didn’t,” I answer, trying my best not to look directly at the dead body.
“Be careful,” Z barks, pointing at my feet.
Bile rises up in my throat as I glance down to see I’m less than an inch from stepping into the lake of blood that has spread across the foyer tile. I jump back, almost losing one of the flip flops I threw on in a hurry.
Only once I regain my balance do I ask my burning question. “How are you ever going to get his body out of here without someone seeing?”
Z finishes taking off the disposable latex gloves he’s been wearing and throws them onto the dead body before looking my direction.
“Don’t ask questions you may not want to know the answer to,” he warns before adding, “You ready?”
I want to shout that I’m not ready for any of this. I want a do-over. If only I’d gone home with Laura, I’d be sound asleep right now.
Thinking of my friend reminds me. “Where’s my phone? I need to call Laura.”
Z’s face hardens. “Your phone was lying in the pool of blood. I’ll be destroying it along with the rest of the evidence from tonight.”
“But… I need it. To call my parents… and my friends.” I leave off my intention to call my father’s lawyer. What’s the use of having a family lawyer on retainer if I don’t use him when I need advice?
“You aren’t calling anyone.”
“But… there’s no way I can keep this a secret from the people closest to me. They’re going to figure out something happened when I don’t talk to them.”
“You aren’t going to disappear. You’re just going to be secluded until I know everything is cleaned up and nothing will trace back to you.”
“But how long will that take? I’m supposed to meet Laura for brunch tomorrow,” I inform him.
It’s easy to see the aggravation on his face as he runs his fingers through his hair again. I may barely know him, but it’s his tell when he’s nervous.
“You aren’t going anywhere with anyone but me for the next twenty-four to forty-eight hours. I have a new phone upstairs we can program for you so you can send a few texts letting those closest to you know you’re gonna be offline for a few days.”
“But… I need to post new content. It’s my job.”
Z steps closer, moving into my personal space. He’s close enough that I have to crane my neck back to maintain eye contact. The intensity in his brown eyes scares me and I flinch away from him, but his hands are back on my arms again, yanking me closer until I have no choice but to return his glare.
“I need you to listen to me and listen good. Your old life is on hold from now until I tell you otherwise. You will not call, text, or email anyone unless I give you explicit permission. You will not post on any social media channel. Period. You will not even login to your accounts. Hell, stay off the entire fucking internet. Your electronic footprint is huge and until I know what the fuck I’m dealing with, you have to go dark.”
Go dark? What the hell does that even mean?
“You’re scaring me,” I whisper, my mind racing at the implication of his rules.
“Good. You should be scared. Maybe that will keep you alive.”