Total pages in book: 47
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 45217 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 226(@200wpm)___ 181(@250wpm)___ 151(@300wpm)
“Get out,” Dirk whispers, “before I call the police.”
“If I hear about you disrespecting Lucy.” Jamie’s voice has become cold, not mean or wannabe tough. Deadly. “You won’t see me coming. Suddenly, there will be a hand over your mouth. Then I’ll squeeze your nose and stifle your airways until you’re unconscious. After that, quiet…”
Dirk is about to speak but stops with a shudder when Jamie snaps. Jamie let out his killer’s side, which he must’ve unleashed when he attacked Dad. This is so twisted. I shouldn’t like this.
“After that, it’s hell for you. I mean it. You treat her with the respect she deserves, or there are going to be serious goddamn problems for you.”
Dirk nods slowly.
“Tell me you understand.”
“I-I understand,” Dirk whispers.
Jamie turns, strides for the door, throws it open, and leaves me… for the second time. It’s what I should want, but I wish he would come back so badly it hurts.
Dirk smooths his hands over his shirt, shaking his head and laughing. Then the laughter dies when he glances at me. I can tell he was about to snap some order, as usual, but Jamie’s threat is too fresh in his mind.
“Is there anything you need, Dirk?” I ask innocently.
“Uh, not right now.”
Thanks, Jamie, I mutter silently, but I’d much rather thank him in person.
CHAPTER FIVE
Jamie
“I like to give people second chances,” the owner of Burgers ’n’ Shakes Diner says.
Kenny’s a friendly-looking man, the opposite of that asshole who spoke to Lucy like she was a disobedient dog and he was a bad owner. It took everything I had not to punch that prick in the face, but that would be living by prison rules.
Violence isn’t the answer on the outside. I only used it inside when I had to, but I’d do anything for Lucy.
Kenny lays his forearms on his knees, leaning over the small desk in his cramped office. He’s wearing a white T-shirt with old food stains, almost like a badge of honor, as if to prove that he’s in the trenches with his employees.
“But you’ve got to tell me why you did it. Why did you kill the man?”
“I don’t discuss that,” I tell him.
“I can’t hire a murderer without knowing why he did it. I’ve hired an ex-con before, one of the best fry cooks ever. He shot a man who’d been diddling his baby sister. The cops did nothing, so he took it into his own hands. Was it something like that? Revenge?”
I sigh. “I don’t discuss it. I’m sorry.”
“Then you better leave.”
“Fair enough.”
After exiting the diner, I walk down the street. I’m out of resumes now.
It’s been the same at most places I’ve enquired at. They don’t hire ex-cons, especially not killers, or they want to discuss it, which is something I never do. I can’t do it. Is that the old paranoia clinging to me?
As I walk down the street, my thoughts return to the restaurant. My mind is doing silly things, like trying to tell me fate led me there. Fate wants me and Lucy to be together, but I inquired at more than half the businesses in this neighborhood. There was always a chance I’d run into her if she happened to be working.
She looked so beautiful in her waitress outfit. There was something about how she’d tied her hair up, all business, contrasted with her flushed cheeks and her body in the skirt, squeezing her hips. I get savage thinking about other men admiring those hips as they make their orders.
“Jamie.”
I turn at the sound of the voice. A kid is standing in an alleyway. He must be around ten, though I’ve never been great at guessing ages. When Lucy and I have children, I won’t have to guess.
Pushing that thought away, I reply, “Yeah?”
The kid steps forward. He’s wearing a black T-shirt with a skateboarding logo, a company that was around before I went inside. He has a board tucked under his arm. His hair is long and blond and looks greasy.
“What is it, kid?” I ask when he just looks at me.
He seems scared, like he’s working himself up to something.
“Just…” He licks his lips. “Don’t think this is over. Don’t think prison was the end of it. Don’t think it ended when the man died, okay? That’s what I’m here to tell you.”
“Those aren’t your words. Who put you up to this?”
He looks up and down the street as if searching for an exit. He seems to fear grownups, and it saddens me to think why that would be.
“I’m not going to hurt you,” I tell him.
“Don’t be late,” the kid says, dropping his skateboard onto the ground.
“Late for what?”
“Don’t be late,” he repeats, reaching into his pocket.
He drops a piece of paper on the ground and then kicks away on his skateboard. I step aside since I’m not going to trap the kid physically.