Total pages in book: 71
Estimated words: 73230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 73230 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 366(@200wpm)___ 293(@250wpm)___ 244(@300wpm)
He didn’t bother to resist.
He let me put him into cuffs, then refused to say another word as the small apartment filled up with Uncertain Saints.
I sat down and played the staring game with him until I finally saw him twitch.
“Why her?” I asked. “You could’ve gone for anyone in the bar,” I hissed, getting as close as the table would allow me to. “You’re lucky nothing happened to her. She’s mine and forever will be.”
He snarled at me.
“She was mine first,” he spat.
I reeled back.
“What the fuck are you talking about?” I demanded.
He smiled, the skin around his mouth that wasn’t burned turning up to a sickening sneer.
“She was mine. My first. I will always be with her. She was pregnant with my kid,” he sneered. “How’s it feel to have my castoffs?”
Then everything clicked into place, making a sickening sort of sense.
The man was none other than Jet Jones, Tasha’s teenage boyfriend who she thought was dead.
My stomach roiled at the idea of her having to hear that her ex-boyfriend wasn’t dead after all.
Holy shit.
Ridley’s fellow officers showed up shortly after that, making my role in the game mute.
Which was good, because my head was a fuckin’ mess.
A huge, stinking, pile of shitty mess.
***
“What can I help you with, son?” Gustavo, Tasha’s father, asked.
I swallowed.
“Do you…I need to talk to you,” my voice cracked.
He looked almost reluctant, but he gave in and opened the door, being sure to keep some distance between me and him.
“You here to tell me why my girl hasn’t so much as mentioned your name in three weeks?” he asked, crossing his arms over his chest.
I looked at Esme, Tasha’s mother, out on the back porch.
She was watering her plants, not keeping the glare out of her eyes as she pinned me with a look that promised retribution.
“I don’t even know where to start,” I finally stated.
He walked to the kitchen, stopping at a fridge that was in the hallway between the family room and the kitchen, to pull out two beers before he stopped at the kitchen table.
“Have a seat,” he invited.
I did, taking a seat at the one closest to the window before I rubbed my hands down my face.
I was tired.
Today had been the longest day I’d ever experienced, and I still didn’t know what to do.
I’d contemplated for hours what I was going to do before I finally decided to come talk to Tasha’s parents.
“Start at the beginning,” he demanded.
So I did.
I’d told him everything I knew about Tasha’s stalker that I had, repeating some of the parts since I’d already told him the very beginning.
“Okay,” Gustavo pinned me with a stare. “What’s new?”
Not knowing how to ease into this, I just laid it all out.
“Today I got information that pointed to a man named George Lucas Jones as Tasha’s stalker and the man responsible for shooting me. My sister was able to dig up quite a bit of information,” I started.
His face went blank the moment I’d said that name, but I didn’t stop the explanation.
“So we went in, questioned the man, and found out that the man responsible for shooting me in the leg was this George Lucas, which is an alias for Jet Lucas. Tasha’s Jet Lucas,” I finished. “We found the rifle at the scene. Pictures of Tasha. So many pictures,” I swallowed. “Maps of where she went. Pictures of me. Anything and everything you could imagine. Hell, he even had some of her clothes.”
He looked at me blankly.
I waited for it to penetrate, and when it did, I was glad I was sitting down seeing as he picked up his beer, then launched it at the window above my head.
Glass shattered, but I didn’t flinch, waiting patiently for him to calm down.
None of this was rational.
I wasn’t expecting rational Gustavo.
I was expecting the ‘father’ Gustavo. The man who watched his little girl suffer through some horrible years.
“Gus,” Esme cried, running into the room at a half sprint. “What’s going on?”
Gustavo put his hands on top of his head and bent at the waist, taking deep pulls of air as he tried to calm down.
Not knowing what else to do, I turned to Esme, then explained the same thing over again.
She was crying by the time I was finished.
“No,” she croaked.
I nodded.
“No.” She shook her head in denial. “Not Jet. He would never do that.”
I was expecting that from both Tasha’s parents and Tasha.
Which was why I’d attempted to get a copy of a death certificate, and of course, I came up empty.
Then I’d taken pictures. Statements. And anything that would help prove that Jet really was alive, short of taking them to him.
“She’s going to break,” Gustavo replied gruffly.
I handed my phone to Esme, then turned to Gustavo.
“No. She won’t. Because I’m here. I’ll never leave her. And I’ll make sure she’s the happiest woman on Earth,” I insisted. “With your permission, I want to ask her to marry me.”