Total pages in book: 75
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 69836 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 349(@200wpm)___ 279(@250wpm)___ 233(@300wpm)
“What are you keeping me for, if you don’t plan to use me? Give me a job worthy of that tattoo, and I’ll do it before the year’s over.” I look straight into his eyes, something I was taught not to do, and step closer to show him how much bigger I am.
Sullivan stills, but I notice the single drop of sweat beading on his temple.
Yes, motherfucker. You nurtured a beast, now deal with it.
He straightens as if that can make him much taller. “I will give you a job when I choose to. You don’t call the shots here. Or should I use the words to remind you? Unless you actually want to kill me and test whether the implant in your heart is real or not?”
I step back as if he’s tazed me with a cattle prod, eyes back on the floor.
I hate myself for being like this, but I don’t want to risk my life, or have him ever use the words on me again. I shake my head, mouth dry as I move until my back hits the wall.
“No. Of course not. But I want to be useful. I want to be active.”
I don’t dare look up, but I can sense his gaze. Full of disdain.
“I will find something worthy of your talents in due time,” Sullivan says coolly.
It’s a compliment. A pat on the back after a slap, but it doesn’t cheer me up. He means to keep me for another year. Maybe he wants me to die on the job, so there’s no loose ends.
I don’t get to answer. He walks past me and exits the restroom, leaving me with the ghost of his peppery scent.
For several heartbeats, I remain still, my gaze pinned to the sealant between floor tiles, but then I’m at the sink and dunk my face under the faucet. Icy water splashes the back of my head, forming rivulets through my hair. There’s so much anger in me, but not being able to express it makes me numb.
Will this always be my life?
I walk out as if on autopilot, then find my way back up the stairs and to the mezzanine where I’m on standby. Like an outdated gaming console you’re not using anymore, but maybe you’ll want to pick up the joystick at some point, so why not just keep it indefinitely?
Since I’m not required to do much, I let my gaze follow a man in a sharp burgundy suit. Slim, with a neat haircut and pretty lips, he glances my way as well, and I consider an act of rebellion against Sullivan’s rules. It’s not Friday, but maybe I could sneak away with this stranger and fuck his brains out to forget tonight’s disastrous meeting. I might appear silly with wet hair and water dripping onto my glitter-infested suit, but couldn’t that serve as an easy conversation starter?
Some animals bond for life, but my heart isn’t capable of love, so I make do with lust, taking whatever I need for the brief moments I get to hold someone in my arms.
I look straight into the man’s eyes—something I enjoy doing a little too much. Probably because I’m not allowed to be so direct with Sullivan.
But then a gunshot resonates through the room, the stranger screams and crouches, but I, like Pavlov’s dog, turn back toward the danger to find Sullivan in the crowd below.
He stumbles into Lyle’s arms, knocking him over while guests crouch, shrieking so loudly I can barely hear the second shot.
A bloom of red spreads over Sullivan’s white shirt, and I can’t believe what I’m seeing.
The shooter is wearing a Santa costume. He’s just feet away from Sullivan, his trembling hand still extended with the gun in it as people shriek and run, tripping over each other.
Impossible.
This amateur stands there, looking around as if he can’t believe what he’s done. As if he has no escape plan. I catch a glimpse of his eyes and pull out my gun. I have a clear shot. I could take him out and put an end to this now.
It’s a split-second decision, yet my whole life manages to flash through my mind. All the pain Sullivan caused me, who I’ve become because of him, the invisible collar I’m wearing.
This stranger shot through the links of my chain with two bullets.
He doesn’t deserve a shot in the forehead. He deserves my gratitude and protection, because otherwise, he’s not getting out of here alive.
When, painful seconds later, he finally flees, I lower my gun and run to follow.
Chapter 2
Eli
I’ve never shot anyone before. The gun in my hand and the odor of burnt gunpowder feel so out of place. I’m having a full-on out-of-body experience and I see myself in this horrifying, yet ridiculous scene.
I’m at a Christmas gala, dressed as Santa, to match the other waiters. In front of me stands Arthur Sullivan, the man who ruined my life, a scumbag mobster who just got elected as mayor. I must have lost my mind at the injustice of it. I brought my gun to threaten him in some secluded corner, say my piece to him, and… I don’t even know what.