Total pages in book: 97
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89840 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 449(@200wpm)___ 359(@250wpm)___ 299(@300wpm)
I flinch at the sound.
Ricardo manages to pick Boaz’s body up with a grunt, drape it over the wagon, and haul it toward the door.
“Police will ask about the blood,” Ricardo murmurs.
“Yeah. Like I told you, once they find out it belongs to someone outside of this cabin, there’ll be no denying what Dominic did. They’ll think Dominic murdered Boaz to try and keep his past quiet then hid his body a few miles from here. I’ll make sure Shavonne and Brynn attest to this. They saw Dominic and Boaz arguing before Dominic shot Boaz outside the cabin. Boaz managed to run into the cabin for his own weapon but didn’t make it far because he was shot again.”
There are streaks of Boaz’s blood near the back door. Some of the streaks have been altered by Ricardo to look like Boaz was dragged away from the living room, not into it. It’ll look like Dominic tried to drag Boaz’s body out of the house. I would feel sorry for Boaz, but I don’t. It’s because of him that all of this has happened. Then again, I suppose I should’ve thanked him first because he spared me this worthless marriage.
Every detail has to make sense and it has to add up. And as far as the unregistered gun, Ricardo has wiped the prints off. I’ll say it was another gun of Dominic’s so the bullets in Boaz’s body align with our story. It must be clear that my husband is the threat.
Ricardo asks, “You sure you have everything else handled?”
I nod. “I do.”
He stares at me a beat with dark eyes. “Alright. I’ll let Daph know what went down when I get home. Give me about thirty minutes before you make the call.”
“Okay. Thank you, Ricardo. This means a lot. Oh—and before you go, I need another favor.”
I tell him what I need, and even behind his ski mask, I see his brows incline. “Are you sure?” he asks.
I nod, then brace myself for the impact.
Ricardo’s throat bobs and for a hitman, it’s sweet that he worries about hurting me. Daphne is so lucky. I bet he has his downfalls, but they can’t be any worse than Dominic’s, and at least Ricardo is honest with his wife. He was honest with her about what he did for a living from the beginning. Daphne was never supposed to tell me about her husband’s lifestyle, but she managed to let it slip out a year ago. She was overwhelmed with traveling so much, and I kept pushing her to tell me what was going on. She was always so vague, always away from home, and I could never figure out what all the cameras around their house were for, or what kind of job Ricardo had to be making so much money to travel. Daphne said he did something with accounting, but an accountant wasn’t getting paid the amount of money it would cost to live the luxurious lifestyle they had. I thought the cameras were so he could watch Daphne, and that perhaps he was a little psychotic, but quickly realized the cameras were so he could watch out for anyone coming after him.
When Daphne let it slip out, it was ridiculous to hear, but it made sense. Ricardo wasn’t very pleased to know that I knew, but after a while, he stopped caring. I suppose, he figured I had no proof, plus I had Daphne to back me up. I’d never tell a soul, but I would use him for my own personal gain if necessary.
I ball my hands into tight fists as Ricardo reels his elbow back. His gloved fist flies forward and slams into my face. I cry out and fall to the ground. Ricardo bends down but I tell him, “Kick me! In the ribs!”
“Jolene, that’s—”
“Do it,” I pant, still holding my face.
He does, and his boot slams hard into my ribcage. I cry out again, crumpling over as my rib throbs. “That’s . . . that’s good,” I whimper. And despite the white-hot pain in my rib and my bleeding nose, I stand when Ricardo offers me a hand.
“I’m going now, Jo,” he murmurs.
My nose burns, the blood dripping profusely, but I nod anyway, and he takes off. I go for an old blanket on the sofa and press it to my nose, then close the door. When the bleeding has stopped, I face my husband, who is still out cold in the chair. He’ll wake in a few hours and so will the women in the back room. I cling to my rib, sitting in the chair across from him, and waiting for him to wake up.
SIXTY-FOUR
DOMINIC
There’s a throbbing on the back of Dominic’s head. He groans and blinks several times with his focus on his lap. He spots the dingy wooden floors, smells the moisture in the air that has nestled into the boards. He’s still in the cabin.