Total pages in book: 48
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 44998 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 225(@200wpm)___ 180(@250wpm)___ 150(@300wpm)
“Damien, please. The boys in this photo are being picked off, one by one.” I show him a copy of the photo with the faces of each victim crossed off. “You’re in this photo and these men right here are still alive, or they might be if you tell me who they are so we can warn them. So, I can save them.” My chest is heaving and I’m out of breath from pleading with him so hard.
His phone rings, and he glances at it, irritation flashing across his face. “I have to take this.”
“Sure,” I scoff. “Go ahead, it’s only a matter of life and death. Literally.”
Damien answers the phone and his voice fades as he walks outside on the penthouse balcony.
Bastard! I’m angry. I’m worried and I’m damn scared that the killer was after Damien on that ship and he’s so fucking nonchalant about it I want to scream. I pace the length of the living room, determined to find some argument that will get him to give me something that will help him and his former housemates.
After a few minutes, I stop pacing and drop down on the plush sofa, watching Damien’s body language as he paces the balcony. “Why don’t you care?” I ask out loud. He’s a billionaire with his own protection, but the killer is an expert at getting into places he shouldn’t.
Locked and secured homes. Suites on yachts. He’s able to move around without being seen or, if seen, not remembered. He’s a fucking ghost who can apparently walk through walls, skills that even the most highly trained bodyguards can’t overcome.
The back of my eyes burns and before I know it, tears stream down my cheeks. Damien’s life is in danger, dammit. Finally, after years of assholes and singledom, I’m in love with a man and he’s going to die soon if I can’t figure out who this killer is and why he’s killing. I swipe at my tears, angry that this is how it’s going to go. Angry that Damien doesn’t care.
“Frankie.” Damien’s voice is so quiet I didn’t even hear him approach. “I’m sorry.”
I jump up from the couch, letting him see the raw fear and worry on my face, the tears I can’t hold back. “I don’t want your apology, Damien. I want a future with you—a real fucking future! But you’re hell-bent on getting yourself killed!”
His eyes narrow as he scans my face. “Fine, Frankie,” he snaps, his voice suddenly sharp. “Do you want me to tell you that’s me and my sister in that fucking photo? Will that make you happy?” He jabs a finger at the images like they’re poison, yet keeps his distance, as if getting too close to them might burn him.
“I want you to trust me with this.”
“Trust you?” He lets out a bitter, humorless laugh. “You’re trying to destroy everything, Frankie! My life. My career. My reputation!”
I’m shocked by the anger in his words. “Damien, I’m not trying to hurt you, I’m trying to keep you alive and if you know anything about these people you have to let me know. No one will care you were in foster care. That doesn’t change who you are.”
“Bullshit!” he roars, his voice echoing off the walls. “It’s all bullshit.”
“Jesus Christ, Damien. I can’t protect you if you keep lying to me!”
He turns away, staring out at the city lights beyond the window. “Now you’re calling me a liar. You know what? Just forget it, okay. I’ll be fine.”
“You don’t know that!” My voice rises, shaking with urgency. “This killer is dangerous! I’m telling you—he was trying to poison you, to make it easier to kill you!”
“You still don’t fucking get it, do you?” He steps back, pulling away from me, his anger boiling over. “This isn’t just about you and me! This is fucking up everything I’ve built. I hope you’re fucking happy!”
“Damien, please—”
“No!” He cuts me off, storming toward the door. “I need to fix this myself. Stay out of it.”
“Damien!” I shout after him, but it’s too late. He’s gone. The door slams behind him, leaving me alone with suffocating panic rising in my chest.
I stand there frozen. The artwork in the room feels like it’s staring at me, watching my heart break. The knots in my stomach tighten until I can barely breathe. I want to scream, to run after him, but my legs are heavy, rooted to the spot.
The ringing phone snaps me out of my haze. I grab it, barely glancing at the screen. “Jay, what’s going on?”
There’s a long pause.
“Hello? Jay?”
“Frankie, I’m at your house.”
“Why? What’s happening?”
“I heard your address on the radio and rushed over. There was a fire. The house behind yours caught fire and it spread. Your place is gone. Shit, it’s gone, kid.”
Gone. My house is gone.