Total pages in book: 76
Estimated words: 72909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 72909 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 365(@200wpm)___ 292(@250wpm)___ 243(@300wpm)
“She left about two months ago.”
“Left?” I scoff. “Left where?” She can’t leave.
“Left, as in doesn’t work here anymore, as in I don’t know where she is.”
I step backward and dash for the doors. I don’t know why, but that doesn’t sit right with me. Why would Miss Winters leave? Two months ago? That was around when I left. No. She wouldn’t leave, and if she did, where has she gone? Pushing my hair out of my face, I jog back to the elevator, pressing the Down button more than what is necessary. The doors finally ding open, and I step inside, pounding on the SP button. The doors close and the elevator takes me down to my car as I think over all the possibilities of where she could be.
Truthfully, I know nothing about her really, but if she was going to leave, I feel like she would have told me the day I got the number from her. Or at the very least hinted. Something’s wrong. The doors ding open and I rush to my truck, beeping it unlocked. Opening the door, I’m just about to slide in when something goes over my head, cutting out my vision, and a hand slams over my mouth before picking me up. I scream muffled cries, kicking and turning as he tosses me into what I’m guessing is a van. I go to rip off the… whatever the fuck it is that’s over my head, when another pair of hands grab me from behind, wrapping cable ties around my wrists and binding them together.
“Who the fuck are you?” I yell out. I smell her before she speaks though. That rich, unique lemon, rosey-ish scent of Chanel No. 5.
“I just want to talk, Madison.”
“Talk?” I laugh. “You fucking kidnap me to talk?” I end my sentence with a screech.
“Take the mask off her please.” In an instant, I’m met with Katsia sitting opposite me and looking extremely out of place in her two-piece suit, with two armed men beside her, both wearing ski masks, as well as the guy sitting next to me.
“What do you want to talk about?” I seethe, pissed off. “For the record, I’m usually a pretty easy girl. You can just be like ‘Oh, hey, girl! Can we chat?’ and I’d be like ‘Yeah, for sure, girl! Let’s do coffee!’” I act the scene out with bound hand signals and high-pitched tones. My face turns flat when I finish. “You don’t need to fucking kidnap me.”
She smiles, but it doesn’t reach her eyes. I don’t think it ever probably has. Unless she’s like, having dinner with the devil. Bet the bitch smiles then. “You’re funny.”
“Thanks,” I say sarcastically. “My friends wouldn’t agree with you.”
“Maybe you need new friends,” she retorts, one eyebrow cocked.
“No.” I shake my head, seeing where she’s going with this conversation. “It’s hard enough to find one person who likes me, much less a gang.”
She tilts her head, studying me closely. I cringe inwardly at how she regards me with her stare. “What makes you think they do?”
“They do—what?” I ask, matching her stare, scanning over her attire the exact way as she does mine.
She snorts, as if she knows exactly why I did that. “The apple doesn’t fall there,” she mutters under her breath. I only just catch it.
“What?”
“Another time,” she replies.
“No, you were—”
“Another time,” she cuts me off, but her smile remains.
This bitch is chilly.
“But tell me,” she continues, reaching forward to take a glass of wine from a little table that’s set up between the two seats that are facing each other. “What makes you think they actually like you?”
“Well, I don’t know. They put up with me.”
“That’s a terrible answer, Madison.” She giggles from behind the rim of her glass. “People put up with a lot of things. Wives, husbands, headaches. Under all that though, is that a way to live? To just put up with someone? No,” she shakes her head, taking a sip, “and for the record, you’re wrong.”
“Wrong about what?”
“Well, that’s the kicker.” She smirks, her eyes lighting up like a Christmas tree. Oh, this bitch is crazy. “All of it.”
“Are you going to fill me in or am I going to be left guessing?” I don’t trust her. At all. But am I open to hearing what she has to say? Yes.
“Well, let’s start with your brother.”
“Let’s,” I reply, overly excited and a little sarcastic.
She looks at me for a second too long before her eye twitches. “How much do you know about him?”
“Only parts. What he’s told me, and what Bishop and Nate have sort of told me.”
She laughs. “Mmmm, those boys. I swear, every generation, it happens.”
“What?” The confusion must show on my face, because she giggles again. “Oh, Madison. Tell me,” she leans forward, “why do you think your father brought you back to The Hamptons?”