Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87695 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 351(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
I rub my arms and stretch my neck, trying to loosen some of the tension. “When did this conversation turn into an attack on my life?” I grumble.
“Not an attack.” Kira holds up her hands apologetically. “Sorry if it came off that way. I’m trying to make the point that you sticking with this marriage and wanting to make it work is huge. It’s important. You should treat it like that.”
I know she’s right. And honestly, if I didn’t feel the way I feel about Seamus, I probably would’ve already gone to a lawyer and left him, if only to save more lives. But I don’t want to do that. Selfishly, I want to stay with him. I want to wake up with him in my bed. I want his hands on my body at night. I want him making coffee shirtless in the mornings, smirking and teasing as I act all grumpy and complain about how it’s too early. I want him to bend down and kiss my neck as he puts a bowl of yogurt and granola down in front of me and makes me promise I’ll eat it. I want his laughter and his snarls of passion. I want all of it.
Even if that means someone else is going to get hurt.
The thought sends a shiver down my spine. I swing between wanting Seamus and needing to make sure my actions don’t cause anyone else pain. It’s an impossible choice, and I hate every second as the countdown continues.
Our conversation gets interrupted when the door opens. I figure it’s a customer, but instead, a young man in a black hoodie and a pair of sweatpants hustles over, a cellphone in one hand and a brown box under his other arm. He squints at the screen and looks up at me.
“Alina Morozov?”
“Whelan,” I correct. When the kid frowns, I quickly add, “but Morozov is my maiden name.”
“Cool, gotcha. This package is for you.” He dumps it on the counter. “Can you sign?” He turns the phone toward me.
But I don’t move. “I wasn’t expecting anything.”
“Dunno about that. Just dropping it off, ma’am.”
I hesitate before scrawling my name on the screen. He taps a few times and nods. “Thanks. Have a good one.”
But as he leaves, three men come in after him. I recognize their leader, a bald and stocky guard named Ryan. He comes right over to the counter and slides the box away from me. “I’m sorry, Mrs. Whelan, but I think I should check this out for you.”
“What’s going on?” I stare at the three guards. Kira lingers nearby, looking concerned.
“I heard you say you weren’t expecting anything. And that courier’s a local guy. This could be something from—” Ryan glances sideways at Kira and lowers his voice. “Our Russian friend.”
“Who do you know in Russia?” Kira asks loudly and sarcastically, rolling her eyes.
I ignore her. “Do you really think it’s an issue? I’m sure it’s just something for the shop.” I narrow my eyes at him as something else occurs to me. “Also, how the hell did you hear me say that?”
Ryan seems sheepish. “Ah, don’t worry about that, ma’am. I’m just saying—”
“My asshole husband bugged my shop,” I say, looking around for some obvious microphone. “I can’t believe he bugged my shop!”
“Just for your protection.” Ryan reaches for the package, but I snatch it back. I’m surprised by how heavy it is. Something large rattles around inside. It feels round, but not perfectly.
“I’m opening my own damn mail, thanks. You can go listen from outside since you like that so much.”
“The shop’s bugged?” Kira groans, and her face turns red. “Were you listening yesterday when I was on the phone with that guy?”
Ryan very pointedly does not look at her. “We’re only listening for anything that’s pertinent to keeping Mrs. Whelan safe.” He clears his throat. “But you have a very colorful way of expressing yourself.”
“Oh my God,” Kira whispers, face crimson.
I don’t pay them any attention. As I rip open the tape on the box, I notice something. A strange red stain on the cardboard. And there’s an off smell coming from inside. It’s getting worse as I pull back a flap, my heart fluttering in my chest.
Tissue paper covers the top. It’s drenched in some red liquid. “What the hell…”
I pull it aside, drop the box, and scream.
My brain doesn’t want to make sense of what I’m seeing.
Everything’s a blur. I keep staring. Kira’s screaming too. The men are shouting and Ryan’s pulling me away.
But I catch another glimpse of Alex’s severed head, his eyes crossed out with large bloody X’s, his tongue missing, his jaw broken and unhinged, congealed blood making a mess of his matted hair.
“I’m going to kill her.” Seamus paces back and forth. His phone’s on the table. I know what he’s been staring at. Photos Ryan took before they disposed of the evidence.