Total pages in book: 80
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 79253 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 396(@200wpm)___ 317(@250wpm)___ 264(@300wpm)
I grit my teeth, but then I do as he says. I squeeze my eyes shut. It’ll be over soon, and then I can get Bianca to safety. It’s the only way. The only way.
The only—
The door slams open. A gunshot. I stand back up to see Ray crumpled over, holding his stomach as blood pumps out of it. Bianca stands next to him, her face paler than I’ve ever seen it.
A gun. Someone shot him. But who? Who?
Another gunshot. This time to Ray’s head. Fragments of skull and brain strew over the tiles of Jack’s floor. He’s dead before his body hits the ground.
It came from behind me. But my body isn’t moving. And it isn’t lost on me that I’m still completely naked.
A cool, serpentine voice slithers into my ear. “Sorry about the mess, Doctor.”
It’s a voice I know too well.
The last voice I want to hear right now.
The voice of Rouge Montrose’s right-hand man, the person she trusts more than her Kings, more than Mr. Rose, the one who determines who does and doesn’t enter Aces Underground.
I finally garner the energy to turn around.
My savior is placing a gun back into its holster on his waist, his snow-white eyebrows raised and his omnipresent grin sprawled across his face.
“Chet?” I ask. “What are you doing here?”
He shrugs nonchalantly, as if we’re talking about the weather. “I was bored,” he says. “So tell me, what’s our next move?”
31
CHET
“Happy birthday!” Mother and Father yell. “Blow out your candles!”
Seven tiny trees of wax spring from the top of my cake that’s decorated with frosting roses that Mother herself crafted from a mixture of butter and cream.
“But why blow them out?” I ask. “Aren’t candles meant to be lit?”
“Always with the questions,” Mother says with a laugh that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “You blow them out so your wish can come true!”
“Do the candles carry a celestial link to the divine?” I ask.
“Come on, son,” Father says. “Just blow them out. Your mother worked very hard on the cake, and we want to share it with you.”
It is only the three of us. Mother invited all the children in my class, but for some reason or another, none of them could make it today. All morning the calls came in, each excuse more outlandish than the last. Their grandparents must be dropping like flies.
I finally blow out the candles, and tiny deposits of wax make their way onto the virgin blanket of icing on my cake. Mother wipes them off quickly and cuts me a slice. “Once you finish your cake, we’ll open your gifts.”
The gifts are what I’m most looking forward to, and Mother and Father have gotten me something very special. I know because I opened the gifts ahead of time. In the event they weren’t what I wanted, I wanted to be able to rehearse my reaction. I’ve never been good at displaying emotions in the moment—every feeling seems to bring the same smile to my face, even the bad ones like anger—but when I rehearse them, it’s a little easier.
But the gifts this year won’t require a rehearsed reaction. Mother and Father hit the jackpot—a book of riddles, and the complete works of Shakespeare on compact disc. An excellent departure from Father’s gift last year—a baseball glove. I love riddles—figuring them out is like tickling your brain with a goose feather—and I can’t wait to share them with all my friends in school. This will surely win their affections.
Perhaps I’ll even convince some of them to come to my next party.
The next day, I wear my favorite outfit—a seersucker suit and pork pie hat—to school. My best friend, Benny, widens his eyes when he sees me.
“Everyone!” He points. “Look what the Jerkster has worn today!”
The children laugh gayly. I’m so glad they enjoy my little outfits.
I pull out my book of riddles. “Benny, I’ve got a thinker for you today.”
Benny rolls his eyes—I think he wears contact lenses, so he must be adjusting them—and leans back in his chair. “Yeah, what is it, Jerkface?”
I open the book of riddles. “The man who sells me doesn’t need me, the man who buys me doesn’t want me, and the man who uses me doesn’t know he’s using me. What am I?”
“I don’t know. A numbskull?” Benny cracks up.
“Skull is close,” I say. “Give up?”
Benny crosses his arms. “Sure. What’s the answer, Jerkster?”
I grin. “A coffin!”
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
“Yes, it does, if you think about it. The man who sells a coffin doesn’t need one because he’s alive, whereas the man who buys one—”
I can no longer speak because Benny is giving me a hug around my neck using his left arm.
He’s squeezing harder than he means to and I can’t breathe, but it’s worth it to feel the warmth of human touch.