Total pages in book: 227
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 220940 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 1105(@200wpm)___ 884(@250wpm)___ 736(@300wpm)
“Brad, please!” Pearl says.
He runs.
I shoot again.
“Brad!”
I smile when his shoulder jerks, and he screams some more. Wiping my brow with the back of my shooting hand, I keep walking as he staggers along, a fucked-up excitement sailing through my veins. I don’t know who made a bruised mess of Pearl’s breasts when I found her. In this moment, I’m imagining it’s this sick fuck. I stop again, lift my hand, close one eye, and pull the trigger, aiming for his left arm.
Not his legs.
Not yet.
“Arhhh!” He trips, falling to his knees, looking back at me, his face full of terror.
“Run,” I yell, walking on as he struggles to his feet. Two bullets left. I let him stumble on for a little while longer, his wide eyes constantly looking back at me as I follow casually, in no rush at all, the music fading the farther we get from the club. I can see he’s going to collapse soon.
I look over my shoulder, seeing Pearl watching, and it’s a fucking relief to finally detect the fear that was absent when I found her held at knife point. I’m fucking savage. What the fuck was she doing out here alone? Especially now I know this cunt’s been looking for her. And he found her. Unlucky for him, I found him too.
I return my attention to his pitiful, fleeing form, done with this game. I lift my gun and aim for his thigh, taking him out. He hits the concrete on a squeal and by the time I’ve made it to him, he’s rolled onto his back. Dribbling. Crying. I stand over him, gun pointing at his head. “How sorry are you?” I ask.
“So sorry! I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.”
“I’m not.”
Bang.
He jerks and stills, eyes open, a pool of red instantly expanding slowly around his head. I let my gun hang limply by my side and reach into my pocket, pulling out my smokes and lighting up, exhaling all over him, taking deep breaths, cooling down before I go back to Pearl. I hardly want to admit my anger isn’t only fueled by her recklessness.
I nearly lost her.
I flinch, rejecting my thoughts—dangerous thoughts—and dip, going to his pockets. I pull out his wallet and cell, pocketing them. I call Nolan. “There’s a body in the alley out back. Lose it, and do not breathe a word to anyone.”
“Yes, boss.”
Now to deal with Pearl.
Calm.
I turn on the spot, taking one last drag and flicking away my cigarette, catching her slowly pulling her tank back into place, her face a sea of impassive beauty. I close my eyes. I can’t talk to her right now. Can’t look at her. I feel dangerous. This whole fucking situation is dangerous.
I reach into my inside pocket as I pick up my feet, passing her, feeling at the small baggy there. Cocaine will be my only company tonight. Cocaine and my unrelenting torturing thoughts that have got progressively worse since I took her to bed.
“Brad,” she calls.
“Don’t, Pearl,” I warn, yanking the door open.
“You should have just let him slice my throat!”
I lose my grip of the door and my temper, then fly around and grab her face, pushing my forehead to hers. “Perhaps I fucking should have,” I seethe. Her hand finds my wrist, wrapping around it, her small body backing up. I don’t let her gain any distance. I don’t let her pull away my hand. Her eyes aren’t blank now. They’re bursting with emotion. A bit of fear still, a lot of anger.
And need.
I heave in her face, my gaze being pulled to her lips. I fight the instinct with all I have as my anger multiplies, and I shove her away from me, smacking my temple with my balled fist, willing her to fuck off out of my head.
“You shouldn’t have killed him,” she says quietly.
I laugh, an evil edge to it. “Sorry, did you have feelings for him?”
“What?” she whispers.
I go to the wall and stare at the bricks, not wanting to look at her. But I really want to see her face when I tell her what I’m about to tell her. So I turn around. “Who was he?”
“I don’t know,” she cries, arms thrown up in the air. “He asked me for a cigarette.” Her torso deflates. “He didn’t deserve to die.”
“He had a fucking knife at your throat, Pearl.” Has she lost her fucking mind? “Is that how he always treated you?”
“You’re not making any sense,” she yells.
For fuck’s sake. “He’s not the only man I’ve killed today.” I point at the club. “I also killed a man who came in and showed Mason a picture of you. Asked if he knew you. Said he’d heard you’d been seen around here.”
Everything in her eyes disappears. Everything except fear. Now they’re overflowing with it.