Total pages in book: 158
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 146477 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 732(@200wpm)___ 586(@250wpm)___ 488(@300wpm)
“One of your cases?”
“Umm . . . yeah,” I say slowly, hating that I’m lying to him. “Look, I’m really sorry, but I’m not feeling it right now. I just need to go home, crash, and try to forget.”
“Fuck that, tiger. You can’t get rid of me that easily. Besides, what else am I supposed to do with this mask?”
“Laith—”
“Try and fucking stop me, Harper. I’m getting in the car now.”
“Lai—”
The line goes dead, and I let out a heavy sigh. Fucking men. Why do they always have to be so goddamn stubborn?
3
HARPER-RAYN
Instant coffee sloshes in my save a hero, fuck villains instead mug as I trudge through my small apartment and collapse into a miserable heap on my couch.
Today sucks, and it’s all my fault.
Actually, fuck that. It’s not my fault, it’s Laith’s fault.
Laith and his stupid monster, elephant trunk of a cock.
After insisting that he was still going to come and rock my world despite my request for a raincheck, the bastard never showed up. And though it was my intention to spend my night trying to forget about the weird black rose left on my autopsy table and how my skin crawled with unease, I had started to like the idea of him coming over.
Okay sure, his refusal to let me have my way made me want to throat punch him, but the more I thought about it, the more I realized that being alone probably wasn’t in my best interest. If I were going to forget about what happened in the morgue, then Laith was the quickest and easiest solution.
But noooooo. Apparently he didn’t feel that showing up on my doorstep was necessary, and what’s worse, he didn’t even have the decency to text. I waited up for him for over an hour, and at that point, I realized how pathetic I was. An hour is way too long to spend waiting for a man. Though when it comes to Laith Mitchell, a dick appointment is a guaranteed good time.
He better have a mighty fine reason for bailing on me. From when I spoke to him in the Uber, it should have only been ten, maybe fifteen minutes before he was pounding on my door. Instead, I was left to fend for myself, wondering if the sound of the breeze on my bedroom window was something more, or if the dark shadows in the corner of my room were more than just a pile of laundry.
Had Laith been there, he would have eased my mind and the fears that took root within me, even if all he did was come over and crash in my bed. He has a calming nature, and last night, I could have used that more than I’ll ever admit.
I’ve never been the girl who’s afraid of the dark. To volunteer for the night shift at a morgue, you’ve got to have tough skin, but that doesn’t mean that shit doesn’t get to me every now and then. There have been cases that have rattled me to the bone. I’ve seen bodies appear on my table mutilated beyond comprehension. I know what kind of evil exists in the world. I know just how dark it truly gets, and though there was nothing more than just a feeling and a simple black rose, I was rattled.
Sure, seeing Laith wouldn’t have diminished what I felt, but it would have gone a long way in making it just a little easier to shake.
Shit. I hope he’s okay.
It’s not like Laith to bail without a word.
I texted him a few times last night and again this morning, but so far, I’ve gotten crickets.
To be fair, there’s a high possibility he simply fell asleep and is enjoying a sleep-in. It’s way too early to send out a search party. He works long hours as a criminal lawyer, so I don’t blame him. When he’s working a case, shit can sometimes get heavy. Nobody gets that more than me. But one thing’s for sure, if I’m wrong and he shows up on my table after being in a car wreck because he was coming to console me, it will shred me to pieces.
Damn it.
This whole situation is beyond fucked up. Not to mention, I’m hyper fixated on Laith bailing instead of focusing on the real matter at hand—the person who was in the morgue. My gut is screaming stalker, but the second I admit that, it becomes real. I’d prefer to be living in delusion and pretend it was all in my head. Forget about it and convince myself that it was a one-time thing, that it’s not something I’ll ever have to worry about again. But that could be a dangerous game.
My skin crawls with the thought, and as I start to feel uneasy about returning to work tomorrow night, a knock sounds at my door. My head swivels toward the sound, and my brows pinch as I try to figure out who the hell it could be. There are a few options. Laith coming over to grovel for forgiveness, my best friend, Izzy, though I have no idea why she’d be here. She usually texts before she shows up, just to make sure I’m home first. And option number three; the black-rose gifter.