Total pages in book: 77
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76953 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 385(@200wpm)___ 308(@250wpm)___ 257(@300wpm)
Especially Perish.
Who did not need to know I was crying just because he was laying down a damn boundary. One I wholly understood, given what he was risking by putting his hands on me. Or even just letting me put my hands on him.
The time in my apartment, that was one thing.
But I’d been selfish to climb up into the glass room and kiss him.
I wasn’t that special that I was worth being kicked out of the club, losing his home, and losing his livelihood.
Did some secret, romantic part of me want to be like the heroines in all the books Luna was giving me? The ones who were so amazing that the hero would burn down the world for her? Sure.
But that wasn’t real life.
No matter how much I wanted to be chosen, wanted to be worth risking everything for.
“Get a grip,” I grumbled to myself before climbing out of my car and walking down the street toward She’s Bean Around.
Did I order myself two coffees and three different sweets because my heart ached and I wanted to soothe it with sugar?
Yes.
But that was my little secret.
Then I did what I knew always worked when I was feeling low.
I threw myself into making everyone else happy.
The only problem this time?
It wasn’t quite enough.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Perish
I slammed the head of the pick mattock into the ground with a lot more force than necessary. The impact ricocheted up my arms, rattling my shoulders.
And just for a second, my mind went blank.
So I pulled up the pick and slammed it down again, a little harder. The pain sliced up my neck and into my jaw this time.
I swung again and again and again.
The weeds were long gone.
I was just striking the ground, making dirt kick up in the air around me, leaving my skin with a fine coat of it. Mingled with my sweat, it made me feel immediately gritty.
But I didn’t stop.
Not when it was the first few moments of peace I’d known in days.
Ever since the morning after leaving Gracie alone in the glass house. Since she’d come out, being all sweet and friendly.
And then I went and made her look at me like I’d kicked her puppy.
Knowing that pushing her away was the right thing didn’t make it any easier to actually do.
Especially when I knew we both wanted more.
But it was how it was.
And I just had to deal with that.
Even if it meant dislocating a shoulder to distract myself from thoughts of her.
“Didn’t know Matteo was putting in another water feature,” a voice called, making me stiffen and straighten.
Turning, I saw one of the Grassi cousins standing there. The young one. Milo, I think his name was.
“There are weeds,” I said, waving toward the area in front of me.
“Are there? I’m pretty sure there’s only dirt.”
“The roots gotta come out.”
“When’d you get hired to work the grounds?”
“Just helping out.”
“Helping out or working through some shit?”
“Can’t do both?”
To that, he gave a slight nod.
“You were the one here during the shootout, right?”
“Yeah.”
“That what you’re working through?”
“Not really, no.” It was just the event that triggered the problem.
“Well, if you’re done with the, er, roots, want to come inside for a drink?”
“Sure,” I agreed.
“There’s a sink and soap in the potting shed.”
The implication was clear: don’t come inside until you’ve cleaned up.
I cleaned up the mess I’d made, brought my tool back to the shed, shook off all the dirt I could, then washed off the rest, since I knew these mafia guys took a lot of pride in their appearances and their spaces. I couldn’t be tracking my filth through.
By the time I made it inside the building, Milo was nowhere to be seen.
I followed the hall down toward where I knew Matteo’s office was, figuring that was the most likely place Milo had disappeared to.
When I reached it, though, it was empty.
Empty save for a bulletin board that hadn’t been there the last time I’d visited.
Something was pinned in the center.
From afar, it seemed like some kind of sketch of someone.
This was mafia turf.
And I’d spent enough time around criminals to know that I needed to mind my own damn business. Looking at shit that had nothing to do with you could get you killed. Allies or not.
But something had me stepping forward past the threshold and inching closer to that board.
Maybe it was how weird it was.
Sure, the Grassis were the mob.
But this was a legitimate business.
And while there were mob capos and soldiers around all the time, there were also just normal employees walking up and down these halls.
Anyone could look in and see the paper pinned to the board.
So it couldn’t have been official mafia business.
As I got closer, it became clearer and clearer that it was a digital sketch.
One, I would assume, of the drive-by shooter. Posted up so that everyone in the office would know to look out for him, would reach out to Matteo or the security team immediately if they saw him again.