Total pages in book: 94
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89232 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 297(@300wpm)
As a part of him dies, a new part is born, a part that is more monster than man. Angelo swears vengeance, and promises that the guilty party will suffer the wrath of hell.
Hate Like Honey
Chapter
One
Sabella
* * *
The library is quiet. Most students are gone for the holiday. I revel in having the space to myself. The gray winter light that sifts through the windows catches the dust particles in wedges. The smell of leather, paper, and ink reminds me of my dad’s study, a place where I felt secure and loved.
Yet something is off. The long lines of shelves crammed with books form an ominous labyrinth. The aisles between them are hiding places where danger can lurk. I don’t like that I can’t see between them. The lamp throws a ring of light around my books and laptop that doesn’t reach farther than the edge of the desk. The corners of the hall are cloaked in darkness.
A creak sounds overhead. I jerk my head toward the upstairs landing. There’s no one. It’s probably just the wooden floorboards expanding or shrinking due to the changes in temperature. A shiver slides down my spine. I pull my cardigan tighter around myself as I prick up my ears, focusing on every sigh and groan of the old building.
The medical section with its priceless oil paintings and precious antique books displayed in glass cabinets is my favorite room. For some reason, the faces of Hippocrates and Pasteur stare menacingly at me from the wall today. I should go back downstairs to where the librarian has her desk. I can do with the comforting presence of another human being.
My mind made up, I gather my books and notes. Just as I slide my laptop into my bag, the door squeaks open, cutting a triangle of chalky light into the space. I jump. Footsteps fall hard on the floor. Like in a bad dream, I’m frozen in place, watching with growing dread as the form of a man takes shape in the darkness.
The hair in my nape stands on end, and my palms turn clammy. My mind screams at me to flee, but my body is paralyzed with fear. I inhale deeply, fighting for reason. I’m being silly. Students come here all the time. It’s not unusual for a man to walk into the room.
Like a ghost manifesting from thick, black fog, he advances toward me. Life finally returns to my limbs. I push back my chair, ready to bolt, but then he passes in front of the window, and the grainy daylight illuminates his shaved head and meaty hands.
Roch.
I’m simultaneously relieved and scared. He walks to me with determined steps, each falling like a warning on the floor, and stops next to me with his hands balled into fists. From close up, I can make out the angry light in his pale eyes and the furious strain in the hard angles of his face.
It’s unreal to see him standing there. The man my tormentor pays to keep an eye on me hasn’t showed himself in months.
I look up at him, swallowing away the tightness of my throat. “What’s wrong?”
His nostrils flare. He inhales. Exhales. “They’re dead.”
My voice comes out breathless. “What?” I scoot my chair to the side, putting space between us. My first, incoherent thought is, Not Angelo. Please, no. “Who’s dead?”
He flexes and clenches his fingers. “Teresa and Adeline.”
I blink. “Who?”
“Angelo’s mother and sister,” he says through clenched teeth.
Shock slams like a fist into my stomach. The punch steals my air. “W-What?”
Pain glitters cold and hard in his gaze. Anger makes it sharp. “Car accident.”
“Oh my God.” The metal of the armrests is cold under my palms. “When?”
“An hour ago.”
An hour ago.
The statement is like a blade slicing through my heart. It’s too fresh, too terrifying. Too raw. I can’t imagine how Angelo must feel. Enemy or not, this isn’t what I want for him. Or for anyone.
“I didn’t know he had a sister,” I say, thinking out loud.
“His twin,” Roch says, the words strangled.
His twin? I can’t imagine losing Mattie or Ryan. Coldness settles in my body. I feel sick. How did I not know he had a twin?
Oh, Angelo.
How does anyone cope with such a tragedy?
“I thought you should know,” Roch says, trying to force an impersonal tone, but his brutal emotions come through in his voice.
Turning on his heel, he stalks away.
Long after his footsteps have faded, I’m still sitting there. I haven’t lost anyone close to me. I hope I never do, because I feel awful. Haunted and tormented. For a man I don’t even like.
My hand shakes as I reach for the phone in my bag—the one Angelo gave me—and wake up the screen. There are no messages. There haven’t been any since June last year.
Why didn’t he let me know?