Total pages in book: 60
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 57707 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 289(@200wpm)___ 231(@250wpm)___ 192(@300wpm)
They shouldn’t wake the goddamn beast.
Later, I try to sleep, but my cell rings the second I drift off. It’s Raffie.
“Hey, T. Can you hear me?”
“Loud and clear,” I mutter groggily.
“You got a minute, bro?”
I grind my teeth, thinking about what I might have to do to him. “What’s up?”
“I don’t know where else to go. The fellas would laugh at me, but we’re old friends, right? I mean, shit, lately, but we are, yeah?”
He sounds so desperate to believe this advertisement of Mob life, whining down the phone because your only real friend is somebody you knew as a kid.
“Hmm,” I say, thinking about those scared kids, Raffie yelling at me to hurt them. My pity dies.
“I need somebody to help me with this coke shit. I need it off my hands. I want it gone.”
“I can’t come and pick up—”
“I’ve got your fight purse, okay, T? More for you, twenty K on top. Please, man. I don’t need it moved. No deals. Just make it disappear. A favor. Please?”
I hate the desperation in his voice, but the truth is, mostly, I need the money. “Swear, Raffie,” I tell him.
“Honest to God. They were always going to pay you. After what you did, do you think anyone wants to fight you? Plus, you’re a good worker, T. Everyone knows that.”
Translated, he thinks I’m going to let Carlo turn the sanctuary into some shit show.
“Thanks, Raffie,” I tell him. “That means a lot coming from you.”
“So you’ll come?”
I sigh. “Yeah.”
This is the line I walk. I’m working with Tank. I’m going to sell this man out. They’ve gone too far, but I need the cash, and the world’s a better place with a less coked-up Raffie, so what harm can it do? The dogs need beds, crates, heating pads, cooling mats, food, bowls, treats, first aid supplies, emergency meds, etc.
They deserve it. That’s the justification I give myself as I get out of bed.
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
MAYA
Isit at Mom’s bedside, unable to sleep. Mom’s on the respirator, which always makes me feel warbly inside, my hand always ready to lurch at the emergency alarm we have set up. Still, if she were in a home, I wouldn’t need to worry about ambulances, wait times, and agony.
Mom motions gently with her hand, meaning she’s okay.
“Right as rain,” she says, her voice so weak I have to lean in to hear her.
“Mom,” I whisper, tears stinging my eyes.
She doesn’t hear the pain in my voice as I sit down and gently touch her hand. I think she’s gone to sleep, but then she croaks again. I lean closer, needing to hear even if it hurts me. “Tell me something good.”
I smile. Of course, she’s trying to stay positive, even now. “A man asked me out on a date today.”
“Oh, really?” Mom seems a tiny bit more animated. “That’s amazing news. What’s he like?”
“He was here earlier. Tristan.”
“Tristan? Hmm.”
“It’s okay, Mom,” I tell her. “He’s a good man. He’s helping us, and he’s got a good heart.” I think; I hope. “It’s more than just him helping us.”
“Go … on.”
Her voice sounds even more ghostly and heart-wrenching because of the atmosphere, the night cold with the dark blueness, but the air stale.
“It’s just when he kisses me. I know it’s awkward to say. Or when I kiss him. When we kiss, I should say. It feels like it could be the beginning of something.”
“Then you go, girl,” Mom says, with a hint of her old spark. “You … go.”
She’s falling asleep again, I realize. I wait to check her breathing, knowing I have to call Lacey again tomorrow. She’ll mention a home, too. Would I ever forgive myself if something happened to Mom?
Once she’s sleeping regularly, I go to the kitchen for a drink. I almost scream when I switch on the light, and, like a scene from a freaking horror movie, a man is just standing at the window.
“Oh, I’m sorry,” he says gruffly. “I saw a light. Isn’t this the front door?”
“It’s the back porch.”
“Oh.”
The window is wide open, meaning he could have gotten in, but I wouldn’t have noticed. It makes my skin crawl.
“What do you want?”
“I’m afraid my cell phone has lost signal, and I need to make a call. I’d never normally be this rude, but I’m in an emergency.”
“No,” I say, my heart thudding so hard I feel dizzy. What is he doing here? Is he with the Mob? “Can you please try another house? It’s very late.”
He runs a hand over his hair. It’s slick and black. “Are you going to let me in, or will I have to kick the door down?”
My blood turns cold, trying to freeze me in place, but I quickly rush to the phone on the wall and dial 911. “I just have to press one more number,” I tell him.