Total pages in book: 113
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 106953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 535(@200wpm)___ 428(@250wpm)___ 357(@300wpm)
“Go quietly and she will not be hurt,” the man had said. Leka believed him and walked out.
That same man threw me my coat and took me down to a town car. We followed a large black Escalade to Marjory’s, where I got a glimpse of Leka, hooded and restrained, being led out of the car and into the restaurant. The scarecrow directed me to the stool I’m sitting on and told me if I was patient, Leka would return to me.
Then he disappeared downstairs. That was thirteen minutes and five seconds ago.
I’d told Leka it was as easy for me to be killed by walking in the city than by someone in his business. Because he loved me, he let his guard down and now here we are, with him in the torture chamber in the basement and me up here shaking like a stupid leaf. I want to stab myself in the eye for all the stupid things I said. For not paying attention to Leka. For not heeding him.
If I had listened rather than insisting like a child that my way was the right way, he wouldn’t be hurting right now. And I know he’s hurting. They didn’t force him downstairs to drink beers and play poker.
Two of Beefer’s men guard the door. When I told Leka I could shoot, I wasn’t lying, and in this moment, even though I haven’t even killed a deer, I wouldn’t hesitate to fire a bullet into these men to save Leka. But I don’t have a gun and I’m not stupid or naïve enough to think I could take even one of them with kitchen implements. I’d probably trip and stab myself if I tried to attack with a chef’s knife.
Leka’s right. I can’t protect us with a bottle of mace. I contemplate calling the police, but I’m sure that would doom Leka, too. I can’t just sit on my ass and do nothing.
“Should I take something downstairs for the guys? They must be hungry. They’ve been down there for a while.”
Fourteen minutes and twenty-seven seconds to be precise.
“Cesaro will call for you when he’s ready,” Mary says. Her voice is cold and dark.
I try not to look terrified, but I don’t think I’m succeeding well because Justin, the cook who replaced Gerry, makes a sad sound in the back of his throat. “Why don’t you grab me that plate over there?” he jerks his head to a stack of small white dessert plates.
“Are you really making him a chocolate cake?” I ask. This whole scene seems so macabre. Downstairs, Beefer and Cesaro and who knows who else are torturing my Leka.
Justin confirms. “Cesaro already ate. I’m making his dessert and it’s not done yet. The chocolate isn’t as smooth as I’d like.”
“Hurry up,” Mary snipes. “He likes to have his dessert before sex.”
My stomach clenches. It’s not Mary he’s going to be boning after he’s done with Leka. My best guess is that Cesaro will rape me in front of Leka. That seems to be right up his alley.
I need to take action. There are four people up here and four men in the basement plus Cesaro and Beefer. How can I take out eight people? A timer dings and Justin reaches into the oven and pulls out a small ramekin filled with chocolate cake. A plume of white spirals up from the oven. A thought strikes. I could start a fire and smoke everyone out. In the chaos, Leka will get free and we will run.
It’s a risk, but it’s my best option. I scan the kitchen for tools. There’s olive oil sitting on the island and butter in a bowl. I just need to get those to a flame. The stove that Justin is cooking on is gas. That’s my target.
I step away from the wall. In front of me, the scene blurs. I no longer see the slender, dark-haired Justin but thicker, red-haired Gerry. Mary’s dress is blue instead of red. She reaches into her pocket. I blink and shoot to my feet.
“Stop!” I yell.
As one, Mary and Justin turn to look at me.
“What?” Justin asks, his hand suspended above the chocolate cake sprinkling white powder on top.
Because I know what to look for, I see Mary’s fist shoot out. She opens her palm and a dust-like substance drops onto the cake. Before I can blink, her hand is back by her side. If I hadn’t suspected, I would’ve missed this.
The image of Arturo grasping his throat with spittle forming at the sides of his mouth materializes. Mary is at his side. She accuses Gerry, but before Gerry can protest, Mary strikes. The knife slits his throat just as he is about to say something. Holy fuck. Mary killed Arturo all those years ago. And in his place, Cesaro rose to power.